


Not Up For Debate

by Milady_Kora



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, Friendship, Gen, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Rivalry, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Claude von Riegan, Trans Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milady_Kora/pseuds/Milady_Kora
Summary: Dimitri would like for it to go on record that Claude is not his rival. After all, your rival is someone you respect and admire, but Claude? Claude has done nothing to earn Dimitri's respect. Nothing at all. Every single time their teams face each other at their college's monthly debating competitions, he resorts to underhanded tactics - and the most frustrating part of it is that theywork. Dimitri can't allow that to continue, and that's all there is to it.Dimitri's motivations have absolutely nothing to do with the way Claude's green eyes seem to hide countless secrets, nothing to do with his effortless charms. Nothing at all. And if Dimitri finds Claude attractive... well, surely, that's just self-esteem-issues left by his transition.Right?
Relationships: Claude von Riegan & Golden Deer Students, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Blue Lions Students, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 26
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	1. September - Dimitri

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stage Dominance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25342603) by [Milady_Kora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milady_Kora/pseuds/Milady_Kora). 



> Each chapter will have individual content warnings, but some that appear throughout the fic are trans- and queerphobia, dysphoria, alcohol consumption, anxiety, and the occasional swearword. However, I am committed to making this a slow-burning rom-com without angst.
> 
> The fic was beta-read by [Ginko](https://twitter.com/ginkobean?s=20), [Jupe](https://twitter.com/JuppyChoi?s=20), [Grey](https://twitter.com/VeloxVoid?s=20), and [Celicalms](https://twitter.com/celicalms), all of whom were absolute MVPs in helping me figure stuff out.  
> Chapter 3 and 4 have wonderful art made by my buddy [Prompt](https://twitter.com/rainglazedpaint?s=20)... stay tuned!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri signs up for university and runs into a few (un-)expected obstacles along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has content warnings for referenced dysphoria, deadnaming & misgendering & forced coming-out (aka trans- and queerphobia), systemic discrimination, mention of top surgery, and anxiety. However, as I said - this is a non-angsty fic, and everyone will be okay at the end of this chapter!

Wednesday, September 2nd, 15:14

The clock is ticking. Mostly in the physical sense, but Dimitri, sitting on his bed in his parents’ home with his laptop in front of him, can’t get rid of the metaphorical association, try as he might. The clock ticking behind him chimes once. It’s quarter past. He’s been staring at the screen for half an hour already.

Usually, the computer is firmly located on his desk in front of the window, but for once, Dimitri has allowed himself to take it to the more comfortable setting of the quilted throw blanket. His desk did not provide him with answers, and so his hope is that the soft mattress can finally put his conflicting thoughts at ease. He doesn’t have high hopes, but then again, he also doesn’t have a lot of options.

The clock behind him keeps ticking. It’s much too present around him, every second pointing him towards the matriculation form for college that he needs to fill out and send today. Everyone else sent theirs as soon as they got accepted - even those who had multiple options to choose from managed to decide within the span of one week, whereas Dimitri pushed the whole endeavour as far into the future as he possibly could. Now, he has no other option but to face it - it’s been one and a half months already since he received the long-awaited letter, and if he doesn’t want all his efforts to be in vain, he really, really needs to get on with it.

The cursor slowly blinks on the computer screen. It’s out of sync with the clock, and it bugs Dimitri the same way that out-of-sync turn signals do. In his ear, there’s the rhythmic clicking from his dad’s car, but the cars in front of him are always faster or slower. To avoid looking at the cursor, he scrolls through the document like he has been doing for months already.

Among other things, the matriculation form asks for Dimitri’s date of birth, citizenship, which subject he’s enrolling for, his current place of residence - all of them are questions he can answer easily. The answer is clear, unambiguous, and it’s clear what kind of response the administration wants to hear.

But the first two fields, asking for his name and gender, are a whole different story.

You’d think it’s easy - Dimitri knows his name, after all, and he knows his gender, too. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is indeed his name. And he is actually, truly male. That’s the truth, one he finally has attested on every single document down to his birth certificate. And yet. And yet he can’t say for sure whether this is also the answer the administration wants to hear from him.

His high school was bad enough already: even after his ID finally declared to everyone who’d bother to doubt that he was truly Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, even after weeks and months and years of pleading to the secretariat and principal - they had still refused to change his name on the records. Dimitri had been forced to explain to every new teacher at the start of the year (and, at least once a month, to interns and substitute teachers) that the name on the attendance list was wrong, that there was no student here who’d respond to it.

Most teachers understood. Some didn’t, crossing out “Dimitri A. Blaiddyd” on every exam and term paper to replace it with his deadname, and then tried to console Dimitri over his B+ or A- as if that was the problem. Even his graduation certificate had been touch-and-go, and it was all thanks to Dimitri’s unapologetically queer English teacher that the administration finally relented and allowed this one small act of mercy.

So just because his name and gender are finally correct on all documents does not mean that he’s safe from unforgiving administration choices. And this, this is the reason that Dimitri has procrastinated for so long. He doesn’t know what the university wants to hear, and what will happen if he answers incorrectly. The worst-case scenario will be a rejected matriculation form (and now, he won’t even have enough time to try again). Or maybe a clerical error will come up when he least expects it and out him in front of everyone - it certainly wouldn’t be the first time this happened. And sure, there’s also the best-case scenario of nothing happening, but honestly, that is a pretty awful best-case scenario compared to everything else.

Transitioning during high school left Dimitri with no choice but to come out. But he’d much rather not have to go through it all over again, just when he thought it would finally be over.

But again, that’s nothing new - those thoughts have been stuck inside his brain for weeks already. He’s been over them hundreds of times, every time he booted up his computer or checked his mail, there it was. He’s out of time. He needs to decide what kind of risk he’s willing to take, and he needs to do it now.

Dimitri shifts around on the bed, the wooden frame creaking. Finally, he reaches out, tentatively, and enters his name into the first section before erasing it again, watching the pixels turn back to white. He scrolls down on the page to fill in the rest of the form, then back up to get the looming question out of the way. He ticks a box in the “Gender” section that only allows for one answer of two and types in the first five letters of his birth name, before grimacing and erasing both answers as fast as he can.

The thing is, saying his name, his real name, just feels right. When he’d have bad days, he used to stand in front of the mirror and just whisper it to himself over and over again, watching the corners of his mouth lift more and more with each time he’d actually say it. But even though he had years to get used to his new name, writing it on documents still sometimes feels like he’s lying. And if you tell the truth with a shaky voice, people start doubting the content of your words, and questions turn into accusations so quickly. People have accused Dimitri of lying about himself more than he can count.

Dimitri has checked the university’s website, clicked his way through the disgustingly pink page of the “Office for Gender Issues and Diversity”, but none of the info he found there was particularly helpful; by the looks of it, the office mainly exists to react to discrimination, not prevent it. So that’s been a dead end, too.

The clock behind him chimes twice. It’s half past. Dimitri stares at the screen, hands fidgeting with the loose threads in his favorite dark jeans. He shifts around on the bed from sitting on his heels to cross-legged. The phone in his left pocket makes this position very uncomfortable, and when he pulls it out, it briefly flashes with a text from Ingrid, complaining about her long shift at the mall’s food court.

Right, he does have other people he can call or text. Absentmindedly, Dimitri swipes his thumb over the lock screen, then shakes his head and puts the phone down again. At the very least, he should fill out everything else before bothering his friends. Maybe he’ll figure it out on his own, and generally, you should always start with the easy parts of any task, right?

Probably. So he does.

When he leans back from the keyboard about ten minutes later, his computer knows that Dimitri is going to study Law, that he is going to live in a student dorm on the ridiculously named Crossroads Lane, that he was born on the 20th of December about 19 years ago. The computer knows his insurance number and so on and so on, countless other mundane things.

If only names and gender could be as mundane as this. The binary multiple-choice question makes this feel even more like an exam. He doesn’t want to get the papers back with his name crossed out in red marker again. Four years in high school is enough.

The laptop dims after a few minutes of inactivity, and Dimitri can see his face reflected in the computer screen. Automatically, his hand reaches up towards his chin and brushes over it. At least his skin is now somewhat fine, with the second puberty acne gone at last. It’s been several years since he started taking testosterone, and he keeps telling himself that this isn’t the end of it and that he has plenty of time left, but still. Four years, and all the shifts in cheek bones and facial hair that blogs and social media posts keep talking about haven’t even made as much as a single appearance. Dimitri clenches his jaw and forces himself to look away. He’s been over this more than enough already. He just needs to be patient.

His hair isn't as short as it used to be, either, slowly beginning to fall past his ears, but it’s still short enough for other people to recognise it as a boyish haircut. At least, Dimitri hopes this is the impression people get from it. There’s this question, too, the question of other people’s expectations and minor details standing out just enough for the rest of the hurried first impression to be constructed accordingly. Dimitri cards his fingers through his hair and wrinkles his nose at its texture. He hasn’t showered in two days. He should probably do that tonight.

Dimitri looks at himself again, keeps staring, tries to decipher what a stranger would see, then swipes his fingers over the touchpad. His reflection vanishes. Dimitri scrolls back up to the two questions that he doesn't know how to answer correctly. Or maybe he does know. There shouldn't be a "right" or "wrong" answer to begin with.

He keeps staring at the screen until the clock chimes three times. An hour already without getting any further. Dimitri groans and slumps over onto the mattress face-first, only to have his nose collide with the phone that he tossed there earlier.

Maybe he should text someone after all. Dimitri unlocks his phone again, rolling onto his back. His eyes land on his homescreen: a group selfie with him, Ingrid, Sylvain and Felix at prom that never fails to make him smile. The three of them are also enrolling for Law with him. Somehow, despite the fact that he hasn’t even submitted his matriculation form yet, the dorm still granted his request for a room on the same floor as his childhood friends. Sylvain and Felix are already there, Ingrid’s still working here, in their hometown, to make paying back her student loan a little easier in the future.

Honestly, Dimitri probably doesn't even need to text them - they grew up together, it’s not hard to guess how they'd react. But maybe his contact list will give him answers, Dimitri thinks as he opens it and starts scrolling through.

In this alphabetical grocery list of doctors, former classmates and whoever else is on there, Felix shows up first - logically. Dimitri stops scrolling for a moment. He came out to Felix when he was thirteen, and he can still recall easily how terrified he had been about it. Up to that point, he had only told his close family - his mother had even come over all the way to town from where she lived after the divorce - and they had all reacted with so much love and support. Talking to Felix next, dependable Felix whose surface personality consisted of almost nothing but sharp corners and edges, was quite an exercise in courage. The next time the two of them hung out together, Dimitri announced that he had something important to tell Felix, before proceeding to brood in anxious silence for almost ten minutes. Eventually, Felix got annoyed and called him a pussy, and Dimitri flinched and came out in stumbled apologies and Felix nodded, asked whether he already had a name and pronouns in mind, apologised for the epithet and then offered the service of his fists against anyone who'd even dare being an asshole to Dimitri.

“Text me again when you’ve stopped being a coward,” Dimitri imagines Felix’s voice - a mixture of annoyance and fondness. And rationally, Dimitri would agree. His name and gender and everything on every single document is at last correct after years of bureaucratic warfare and there shouldn't, shouldn’t, be a way for this to backfire. But that doesn't make it any less scary. At least with his birth name, he already knows what to expect and can control the damage done.

Ingrid had given Dimitri one of her patented bone-crushing hugs (after he started binding, she unfortunately had to ease up on that) and immediately greeted him with his new name even though they had already spent half an hour together. The way it made endorphins and dopamine surge through Dimitri's veins was the reassurance he didn't even know he'd needed. Two weeks after that, Ingrid had given him a pair of fluffy knitted socks in the colours of the trans pride flag, courtesy of her grandmother, and even if by now, he’s grown out of them, they’re still at the back of his sock drawer and they’re definitely coming with him when he moves out.

Ingrid has been nothing but supportive, always willing to provide an open ear and an open heart, and she would ask Dimitri about what it is he truly wants, which option he'd feel safest with. Dimitri has an answer to the first question, a very obvious answer. But the second question is still an enigma. So he closes their chat again without typing anything and scrolls further through his contacts.

Sylvain's reaction had been... quite an experience. Dimitri, riding the high of the warm welcome Ingrid and Felix had given him, was nothing short of excited to come out to him, too. When they met at the local mall to hang out, Dimitri slowly sipped his bubble tea as he waited for a good moment to tell Sylvain, and then almost choked on a tapioca ball when Sylvain came out as gay before Dimitri could even so much as say a single word. Once Dimitri stopped coughing, he let Sylvain know of his new name and pronouns, and Sylvain immediately hit him with a horribly inappropriate pick-up line. Dimitri choked again, and that was the story of why Dimitri had avoided bubble tea since he was thirteen.

Sylvain would absolutely encourage Dimitri to take the most rebellious and outraging option. His internal compass has always been poorly calibrated in terms of risk-aversion, and while sometimes, it’s a good balance to Dimitri’s anxiety and preference for stability... there is a reason humans are generally made to be risk-averse, and Dimitri still isn’t sure whether this particular risk is worth the pay-off. He keeps scrolling, hoping that perhaps the letter Z will have an answer for him, but turns out he doesn’t even have anyone saved under that letter.

He scrolls back to the top. There’s also his father. Well, technically, he wouldn't have to call him, he could just get up and walk over to his study across the hallway if he wanted to talk - and not just technically. He really could. Dimitri decides to save that option for when he’s absolutely hitting a dead end. When he moves out, he won’t have that option available anymore, either, so he should start figuring out how to get his act together on his own.

In terms of family, he definitely got lucky. His father is amazing, and so is his mother, Lori. And even if the marriage between the two didn’t work out, and Lori ended up moving to a different city, all three of them are still on great terms and his parents always made sure he felt loved and accepted. Patricia, his father’s second wife and Dimitri's step-mother, isn’t any different, either. She and his father got married over eight years ago, and both her and her daughter Edelgard are just as much a family to him as his father.

Hm. There’s also Edelgard. She has moved out one year ago already, studying Physics - in the same university as the one Dimitri is about to go to, even - so calling her is definitely an option. She and Felix alone would be enough to win against an entire battalion. If Felix is the one to walk in with a sword replica and demand justice, Edelgard wouldn’t hesitate for even a second to burn the archives down if he asked her to do so. Which he wouldn’t, of course, but the image is nonetheless amusing, endearing, uplifting - and besides, it’s the thought that counts. Not the realism. And knowing that his friends and family will support him through everything, come what may, counts for more than he can even properly imagine.

As Dimitri scrolls through his contact list over and over again, he finds himself smiling more and more. He really doesn’t even need to text anyone after all - he already knows they all have his back. No matter what, he’s not going to be alone.

He tosses the phone aside again and walks over to the window, pushing the soft blue curtains to the side. It's September. Soon, the sparrows chirping outside will migrate to the south - and he’ll spend the first snow studying for exams together with his friends… unless Sylvain drags them all outside for a snowball fight, that is.

That sounds really nice. He truly, truly wants that, with every single fiber of his being.

Dimitri takes a deep breath of the early autumn air, as much as he can against the tight binder. It’s unusually uncomfortable, and when the clock behind him chimes again, he realises that it’s been ober seven hours already since he put it on. At least the whole ordeal with his chest will be over in a few months, thanks to the upcoming surgery. But for now, it’s more than about time he finished the whole ordeal with signing up for university. And maybe, just maybe, it’s about time he stopped second-guessing himself. His name will not change again, neither will his gender. Or rather, even if they do, he shouldn’t ruin his present for the sake of a future he has no influence over. It’s not worth it, not nearly as much as being able to experience university as himself.

Another deep breath, then Dimitri goes back to his computer and answers the two remaining questions.

He’s Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, he’s male, and he’s not going to compromise on those points anymore.

* * *

Monday, September 14th, 10:42

After that, everything goes incredibly fast. Moving out of his parents' home, moving in with Sylvain and Ingrid and Felix, all that passes in a blur until, at last, university begins. The welcome week is great, it’s exciting, but Dimitri would be lying if he claimed it wasn’t also overwhelming. There are hundreds of students in Dimitri’s year alone, and he cannot remember a single person from all the icebreaker games to save his life. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised about it, given how Law is one of the most prestigious and coveted subjects, but even the university seems to have underestimated the amount of students it has accepted, because not a single lecture hall has enough tables and chairs for all of them.

“That’s because half of them won’t make it through the first semester,” Sylvain whispers next to him when he mentions his surprise. “Let’s make sure we’re not among them.”

Dimitri nods through the tangle of anxiety in his stomach. He doesn’t like this thought at all, and not even so much for his own sake. He’ll manage. Probably. But he can’t help but feel sorry for all those excited students around him with their hopelit faces. There are a few bored, blank stares, yet, but even then this method of reducing the amount of students seems unnecessarily cruel.

At least Dimitri isn’t completely on his own. He has Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid with him almost all the time, and together they are pretty much unstoppable. No search engine can withhold their combined brain cells, and in the evenings, they take turns cooking for each other and then eat together while discussing the events of the day, planning for tomorrow, and just straight up having a good time.

On the fourth day of the welcome week, they decide to skip one lecture and have lunch at the cafeteria instead. Just as they sit down, however, a student with long, cream-blonde hair comes over to their table.

“Excuse me, may I bother you for a moment?”

Dimitri and Ingrid pause their current argument about whether it's worth buying the DLC to Hyper Slam Siblings Extreme just to get the overpowered cactus fighter, and Sylvain and Felix stop their totally hidden game of "whose kick can make the other person spill their soup first".

"I really don't mean to interrupt," the student says sweetly, "I just wanted to ask if my friend and I can sit at your table. We couldn’t find any more free spaces."

Dimitri clears his throat, hoping his voice doesn't crack too much. "Certainly," he says. “If you all don’t mind, that is.”

Ingrid and Sylvain fervently shake their heads, and Felix shrugs.

"Thank you very much!" The four of them get a smile so endearing that even Felix smiles back.

As the student walks away, Sylvain whistles under his breath, which earns him yet another kick to his shin from Ingrid. If the whistle had been any louder, Ingrid would have been much less merciful with her aiming.

"Um, ow?" Sylvain asks. "What was that even for?"

"Because whistling after people is creepy, Sylvain?" Ingrid replies through a mouthful of rice. "We've been over this."

"I wasn't whistling because of her looks!" Sylvain sputters. When he sees everyones’ stares, he adds, "Honestly, I wasn't. But remember how we all joined the Debate Club in high school?"

Dimitri nods slowly, unsure where this is going. Ingrid scrapes the last crumbs from her plate, but seems to listen, too. Felix crosses his arms.

"Well, this is Mercedes, I talked to her earlier in the hallway and she actually leads our faculty's debate committee."

"Uh-huh," Ingrid says, clearly not impressed.

Sylvain ignores her. "Wouldn't it be cool if we all joined? They're having the first meeting next Monday, and it would be great practice, and- oh, hi!" Sylvain stops when Mercedes comes back with another student whose smile, as impossible as it would seem, is even wider than Mercedes’.

"Hi-hi!", the grinning student replies, red pigtails bouncing as they sit down. "I'm Annette! And this is Mercie! But you already met her!" Annette sits down once everyone is finished scooting their chairs. "Oh, and she/her-pronouns for me!"

Annette's enthusiasm is contagious, Dimitri thinks as he introduces himself with a bright smile and everyone else follows. When he notices Ingrid hungrily eying the cupcake with what looks like chocolate frosting and sprinkles on Annette's tray, he clears his throat, hoping she'll pick up on his non-verbal request. Ingrid shifts around on her seat, clearly trying not to stare at it too much. She's saved by Felix.

"You were the one who fell down the stairs of the university library, right?"

Well, sort of saved. At least it's a good enough distraction, because Annette turns bright red and starts stammering something about heavy books, looking terribly distraught and embarrassed. Felix jolts in his seat when he's hit by three kicks from three different people at the same time.

"Serves you right!" Annette chirps with a huff, then picks up her cupcake, pulls off the paper and takes a large bite out of it.

Dimitri manages to catch the exact moment Ingrid's eyes wilt.

By the looks of it, Mercedes did, too.

"Unfortunately, I'm all out of cupcakes,” she says, smiling widely. “But if you come to the debate club meeting, I'm sure there will be more!"

"Wait," Ingrid says, voice taking on a star-struck tone, "you baked these yourself?" Mercedes nods, and Ingrid puts down her fork with a loud clang. "Okay, I'm in, we're all joining the committee."

Felix is about to open his mouth in protest, but Ingrid dramatically points at him before he can even say something.

"And you don't like sweets so I'll have your cupcake."

Felix shuts his mouth again.

"Great!" Sylvain says and turns his cursed brown puppy-dog eyes over to Dimitri, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. "That only leaves you."

Dimitri flushes from all the attention and concentrates on finishing his bowl of soup, mulling over the pros and cons of engaging in something fun and energising during his first semester at university. It's a very, very, extremely tough choice. Luckily, Sylvain seems to have learned his lesson from all those years ago and waits for Dimitri to actually finish his food before he starts whining again.

"Come on, you were so good in high school, the team would be completely lost without you!"

Annette perks up. "Ooooh, you're already experienced?"

Dimitri is about to say that it wasn't such a big deal, and that it was a different format in high school, but Sylvain just has to go and say, "Yup! He was the team captain, too."

To make matters worse, Ingrid and Felix nod along, and Dimitri decides it's time to put a stop to this idolising.

"I may have been team captain," he says, "but that was only possible because there was a team to begin with. And it was you who made it so worthwhile, I had little to contribute to that."

Felix's snort is drowned out by Mercedes' voice. "I really do not want to make you uncomfortable, but I only started debating last semester. The only reason I’m in charge of the committee is because everyone else who would be willing to has graduated by now." Dimitri opens his mouth to apologise. "No, it's alright! I'm only saying that if you were to join us, your experience would be truly invaluable. I really like your collaborative mindset, and I'm sure all of us could learn a lot from you!"

Mercedes has got to be one of the sweetest people Dimitri has ever met in his life, and when she gives him another one of her radiant smiles, he can't help but smile back. She's probably the only person on earth who can give out such compliments and not make them sound like empty flattery.

"Your offer is really kind. I… I'll think about it," he says.

Sylvain and Annette let out a triumphant cheer and high-five each other over the table.

"Don't worry," Dimitri hears Ingrid assure the two red-heads as Felix and Mercedes swap phone numbers. "I'll make sure he shows up on Monday."

* * *

Monday, September 28th, 17:42

The first meeting is simply fantastic. Dimitri can't recall the last time he enjoyed himself so much, because unlike the faculty's student's council, Mercedes knows how to make icebreakers legitimately fun. There isn't a single game that doesn't end with all of them giggling and laughing without end.

At the second committee meeting, however, something is... different.

Dimitri isn't quite sure how to place this anxious gut feeling, but the way that grey-haired freckled student stares at him from across the room when he enters is disconcerting. He spends a few minutes trying to remember whether he said something wrong last week that he should apologise for, but as far as he can remember, that student wasn't even there. They don't know him. So then why did they stare at him as if he posed some sort of danger to them?

Dedue is the next to enter the classroom - Dimitri and him share a few courses in International Law and he was also there last week, though they haven't had a chance to talk properly yet. He does seem like a really kind person, and the few questions and arguments Dedue did bring up in class were always on-point.

He should probably go over to the student and introduce himself before everyone arrives, Dimitri thinks, so he gets up and walks to the windowsill where the student is seated. Green, fast-blinking eyes meet his own.

"I'm Dimitri," he says, awkwardly stretching out his hand, and the student... flinches? Leans away from him? Whatever it is, it makes the words "nice to meet you" shrivel up and die in Dimitri’s throat.

Whether it’s fear or disdain in the student’s eyes, he can’t tell. But whatever it is, they don’t seem like they want him to be here, and their quiet “I think it would be best if we saved the introductions for when everyone arrives" does nothing to shake that impression. Dimitri nods nervously and goes back to his chair, trying his best not to overthink this interaction.

When Mercedes walks in next, looking serene and untroubled, Dimitri is about to get up and talk to her - because maybe she knows something about the student that he doesn’t, something that would explain the whole situation - but it looks like the student had a similar idea. The next thing he sees is them going over to quietly exchange some words with Mercedes, who nods, and then the two leave the room. Distantly, he hears something about “names”, "something you don't know" and “reintroducing" before the door closes. Dimitri feels trapped in this room meant for twenty people and currently filled with only two, left with nothing but his thoughts and unable to leave.

Well, he can leave. Technically. But that would be absolutely ridiculous. Besides, it would make it seem like he's eavesdropping. He just needs to be patient and everything will fall into place soon enough.

And yet, Dimitri can't help but feel like he's waiting for disaster to strike the longer he just sits around doing nothing.

He checks his watch: It’s ten to six. Dedue is typing on his computer with a soft staccato. Dimitri drums along on the table, then checks his watch again, then takes out his phone to look at the time. It's nine to six. Something about this doesn’t feel right, and the longer he thinks about it, the larger the tangle of anxiety in his chest grows. He looks at the clock. It's still nine to six. There is no second hand, only the two for hours and minutes, and so time stretches into a seeming eternity. The next intake of breath is more difficult than he would like it to be, even despite the fact that he has already taken off his binder for the day and replaced it with a sports bra, but-

Oh.

Oh no.

Dimitri looks down at himself, then hastily over at the window pane to see his reflection, and tries to slow the thoughts racing through his head. His heart instantly starts racing, anyways. This is exactly what he was so worried about when he signed up for university, except he never thought it would actually be a student who'd out him instead of the administration. He takes out his phone again to text Edelgard.

 _**  
You  
** _ _El,_ _I think a student is about to out me.  
  
_

He locks his phone, then unlocks it again to check if the message was delivered already. It wasn't. Reception in the Physics building is notoriously bad, so that's not a big surprise to him. So Dimitri he just has to wait and be patient.

Instead, he picks up his phone again. And again. After checking his messages for what must be the tenth time in less than a minute, Dimitri sets it to vibrate instead of the usual silent mode and forces himself to not touch it until Edelgard replies, only to break his resolution when the phone starts buzzing with Sylvain's and Felix's bickering in their shared group chat. The familiarity of it all makes Dimitri smile for a moment.

That moment, however, is cut short when Mercedes walks back in together with the student and he catches her saying "Thank you so much for telling me, I really appreciate it, and I'm sure the group will, too!" - Tell her what? What did the student tell Mercedes?

As the student goes back to the windowsill and sits down, constantly crossing and uncrossing their legs, fidgeting with the sleeves of their oversized sweater, Dimitri's phone buzzes again. Finally.  
  


_**Edelgard**  
Are you sure?  
  
_

Dimitri pauses, thumbs hovering over the screen. How does he explain a gut feeling that comes from stares and conversation snippets? Another message comes in.  
  


_**Edelgard  
** I believe you, please don't think that I don't. I just want to have enough information to help you. Are you available for a call, or do you prefer to text?  
  
_

Yeah. Okay. He really can rely on her. Dimitri starts to type and is already an entire paragraph in, consisting of what could be five separate sentences if they weren't all smushed into a single lengthy explanation, when the classroom door opens with a loud BANG against the wall and a squeaked "Sorry!" from Annette. Dimitri looks up and sees her walk into the classroom, followed by Felix, Ingrid and Sylvain, the latter barely holding back his laughter. 

Ingrid sits down next to him and shoots him a questioning glance, and hesitantly, Dimitri puts his phone away, not wishing to be rude. After Ingrid shakes her head at him, he notices he's been loudly tapping his fingernails against the desk. He presses his palms flat onto the wooden surface, hoping he didn't annoy anyone. Especially not the grey-haired student, not that it matters much. What worries Dimitri most isn't the student alone as much as Mercedes seeming to agree or support them, and even with Felix and Ingrid and Sylvain on his side... Mercedes does still lead the club. She could easily kick them all out at a moment's notice. After the initial warm welcome he had gotten, it would be even more disappointing, and for a moment, Dimitri thinks that this is exactly why forming attachments is a bad idea. He dismisses that thought and tries to distract himself by rummaging through his pencil case, tries to give his fingers something to do, but he just ends up endlessly clicking his ballpoint pen until even Felix stares at him from across the room.

"Dimitri?" Ingrid asks next to him, "Are you alright?"

Unfortunately, the very moment Dimitri opens his mouth is also the moment Mercedes stands up.

"Alright, it's quarter past six, so I think we can start the meeting!" she says. Dimitri swallows. "I was asked to do another introduction round to make sure everyone has a chance to introduce themselves properly." After a brief pause, she adds, "or re-introduce themselves if necessary."

Oh no. Mercedes lets her eyes wander around the room. Dimitri looks down, praying to whatever sacred beings might be out there that she's not looking at him, that this isn't about him.

"I'll start - my name is Mercedes, I'm a third-year, and my pronouns are she and her. Currently, I'm in charge of the committee, so if there are ever any issues, please do not hesitate to approach me. I want to make sure this is a safe space for everyone!"

Oh, if only Dimitri could be sure that "everyone" actually included him.

"Should I-? Okay, yeah, I'll go next!" Annette says. Dimitri forces himself to pay attention. "I'm Annette, second-year, and also she/her. And if you want you can call me Annie!"

Mercedes and Annette announced their pronouns and Dimitri truly, truly wants to believe that this means he doesn't have to lie when it will be his turn. As Sylvain introduces himself as a first-year, he/him-pronouns and Felix just says "I'm Felix. Same as him with the rest," Dimitri counts down from seven to six to five to four to three. Three people left before it's his turn. That includes the grey-haired student. Who comes before him. And will have a chance to-

"I’m Dedue, he/him. I am a second-year like Annette, although unfortunately, we do not share a lot of courses together."

Two. Ingrid and the other student sit at the same table. Maybe Ingrid will go first, maybe that will give him a better chance to react.

"Uhm... I'm sorry, I... would it be alright with you if I went first?"

Ah. Doesn't look like it, then.

Ingrid throws Dimitri a cursory glance, then nods.

“Sure," she says. "I don't mind.”

Dimitri steels himself, forces himself to listen. Please don't let this be about him.

"I... uhm." The student swallows. "I'm a second-year. Ashe. With an e at the end." Their voice is shaking for some reason. Dimitri tries to keep his head down. "And, uhm, he/him? If you don't mind. I know I didn't go by this before, but... well. Sorry to cause trouble like that. It would mean a lot to me if you could use Ashe and he/him, though."

Hold on. Hold on just a moment. Dimitri looks up and over at the student. No. That's not what's going on, is it? There's no way. There's absolutely no way. Is Ashe- Is he-

Mercedes smiles and shakes her head. "It's no trouble at all, Ashe. Nice to meet you!"

Dimitri locks eyes with Ingrid, who stares at him with wide eyes, and then it clicks.

Oh.

So that's what this is about. That's what Ashe was talking about with Mercedes. That's why he looked so scared.

It wasn't about Dimitri at all. And he's safe. And... and he's not alone. This is... Dimitri can't even put it into words. Despite the relief, his heart is still racing as fast as before. There's too many feelings.

"I'm Ingrid!", Ingrid says after a brief nod from Mercedes, "she/her and a first-year. I'm so happy to meet you, Ashe!"

It's Dimitri's turn to introduce himself, and he manages to identify at least one of the emotions currently tangled up inside him. It's joy. He... he's looking forward to introducing himself for what must be the first time in his entire life.

"I'm Dimitri," he says, hoping his voice doesn't tremble, because it sure feels like he's about to cry. "I'm a first-year, too, and please use he/him for me."

The way Dedue smiles and Annette uses every possible chance during the following hour to grin widely at Ashe calms his worries entirely. "Everyone" does include him. He's not just tolerated, he's welcomed - he and Ashe both.

There's nothing for him to fear.

He can barely even concentrate on the meeting, floating too far up on relief to hear Mercedes introduce everyone to the specific rules of the university format. That's alright. Sylvain and Ingrid and Felix will help him catch up until the mock competition against other faculties in October.

When the meeting is over, everyone still stays in the room, chatting amongst themselves while Mercedes sneaks into the staff kitchen across the hallway to make tea for everybody. Dimitri gets up and walks over to Ashe, who jumps down from his perch on the windowsill.

"Sorry I was so rude earlier!" he says, hiding his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt. "I just... I wanted to introduce myself to everyone first."

Dimitri shakes his head. "I understand," he says softly. Does he want to- yes. He wants to come out. "To be quite honest, I think we may even have similar experiences."

"Really?" Ashe's eyes widen. There’s a hopeful, unasked question hiding behind this one word.

Dimitri is not alone. He takes a deep breath. "I'm trans, too. So... if you ever have any questions, or need someone to talk to, I hope you'll come find me."

"Thank you, thank you so much, I- I never thought I would actually meet someone who's... who understands."

Ashe looks like he's about to cry and oh, Dimitri knows that feeling. As great and helpful internet forums were, Dimitri always wished for someone he knew to talk to about being trans. If he can give that to Ashe - well, what more could he want?

The two of them chat for a while, and when Dimitri takes out his phone to exchange numbers with Ashe, he notices four very worried messages from Edelgard.

Right. He should call her.

Dimitri excuses himself as soon as possible, receiving a soft smile and "see you!" from Ashe, then goes outside.

He's got some good news to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Dimitri signing up for university was a minor slow burn in and of itself. Yes I have decided that this counts as foreshadowing. 
> 
> What can I say, I promised you a slow burn and a slow burn you shall get.


	2. September - Claude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Claude starts university, all he wants is a chance to leave his past behind. Luckily, things are looking good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has minor content warnings for implied transphobia, light drinking, implied past bullying experiences, and difficult parents/families.

Thursday, September 10th, 06:58

The engine slowly quiets down to a low rumble, then stops.

"Alright, boy, wake up," Judith says. The handbrake scrapes on the gears. "We're here."

Claude blinks slowly, returning to the present time. The last section of the 8-hour ride was spent in a distant daze for him, watching streetlights and other cars pass them by on the highway. In the early hours of the morning, the lights were turned off and other cars became scarce, and buildings and trees and streetlights and advertisements replaced them in their endless, lulling rush. Now, everything stands still. It's seven in the morning. The sun isn't quite up yet, but the sky is a watered-down light blue. No clouds. His backside is more than a little sore from the seat.

Claude exhales the last trace of sleep from his lungs, then unbuckles his seatbelt. Judith is fumbling with the plastic phone holder stuck to the windshield, removing her phone and checking the navigation app.

"This is the place, right?" she asks.

Claude looks outside the window at the slightly decrepit building. It did not get any easier on the eyes since he was here last to sign the rental agreement - if anything, it got even uglier. There's cracks running up the grey concrete walls, not to mention the graffiti and muddy window panes. But hey, at least it's affordable.

"Yup," he answers with a lopsided, wry smile. "That's the one."

Judith nods, then gets out of the car. If she has any thoughts about the place she doesn't let them on, instead just reaching for her jacket on the backseat. "You got the keys?"

The car door slams shut behind Claude when he gets out, too. He pats his pocket. "Right here."

"Cool. I've got two hours to help you set everything up, then I'll have to be on my way again." The easy way she says it does not match up with the twist in Claude's gut. But that was inevitable. University starts in two weeks, he turned 20 a while ago, and it's more than about time for him to start living independently. But still - even as they carry the cardboard boxes containing Claude's new and old life upstairs, even as Judith efficiently unpacks everything and helps Claude sort his possessions into shelves and cupboards...

Claude keeps looking around the drafty studio, at the empty walls covered with puncture holes where nails used to be, at the half-filled crooked bookshelf and the cold laminate floor - and he can't help but realise that this isn't his home. He knew this was going to happen, and that homesickness was an inevitable part of the whole "second time moving out" experience, and with all this considered, he really should have been prepared for the feeling of loss, but-

"Hey."

Claude turns his head towards Judith. There’s one more box standing between him and leaving the best home he ever had. Bright, early-morning sunlight breaks in through dirty window panes, illuminating the fine layer of dust covering all surfaces.

Judith sighs and sits down next to where he’s crouched on the floor. "Listen."

He shifts around to find a more comfortable position. The floorboards creak underneath him. On paper, he’s a soon-to-be-student; at the moment, however, he just feels like a little kid all over again, clinging to his mom's leg so she wouldn’t leave for another business trip. (She always did, in the end.)

"You're looking really depressed there, boy."

"Hm," Claude replies. Maybe that's because he actually is feeling like shit right now.

"You know this isn't a final goodbye, right?" Judith says, squeezing his shoulder. "You're just taking the next step on your own, and I'll be checking in on you. You can always count on me."

"I know," Claude says. He does want to take this next step into independence, he really does, because as safe as a ship in the harbor may be, that's not what ships are built for. But that doesn't make the impending leap into cold water any easier.

Judith's expression softens. "Good. I'm glad you know." There's the fond warmth in her voice she doesn't allow to come out often. "Have you found a doctor yet?"

“Yep." That, at least, is fine. He’s got an appointment in two weeks for the clinic to register him as a patient, then they can keep prescribing him hormones like the clinic back at home. Hm. He really should start referring to this place as home if he ever wants to feel good about living here.

Judith just nods. They go through everything else that might come up - utility bills, bank details, financial aid from the university, some last wisdom and encouragement.

When they're finished with everything, Judith checks her watch and gets up, brushing over her legs to get the dust off her pants. "I'll be in town until three, so if there's anything you need me or the car for, let me know," she says. "And I can only repeat myself - you better stay in touch. I didn't spend five years doing what your parents should have done just for you to forget about me, got it?"

Fuck. Bad, terrible moment for Claude to start crying, he knows that, but the stinging in his nose keeps getting stronger. "I'll keep that in mind."

“You’re gonna do great, boy, I know it.” Judith claps his shoulder, then pulls him into a crushing hug. “I’ll miss you.”

"Yeah," is all Claude can choke out. "You too. Thanks for everything."

* * *

Wednesday, September 16th, 11:07

The welcome week has been going on for three days, and Claude is slowly getting bored. He has already picked his courses for this semester (not that you have a lot to choose from as a first-year in International Relations), so all the speeches about possibilities and chances and choice seem like nothing more than empty hogwash to him.

At least the presentation currently being held by a pink-haired guy about the faculty's debate committee is quite interesting - which is why Claude is all the more surprised about the student next to him yawning and taking out a Bintendo Snitch.

"Not to be nosy or anything," Claude asks, "but aren't you going to listen?"

The student rolls their eyes, chewing on bubblegum. "Well, what can I say, you’re totally not being nosy right now. Nuh-uh.” They pause to readjust a sparkly ribbon in their… weirdly complicated hairdo that looks like it came straight from the 19th century. The ribbon slides off again. “But, if you must know, Holst is my brother. He made me listen to his presentation three times already yesterday."

Claude nods. “I… see.” 

“No idea how he manages to be so impressive during debates if presentations make him so anxious. By the way, I'm Hilda. She/her. You?"

"I’m Claude," Claude replies. "He/him. Lovely to meet you, Hilda."

As Holst clicks forward to the next slide, detailing the committee's past achievements (consisting of several trophies from the monthly competitions), Hilda places her console on the desk and leans forward in her seat to pull out a pair of headphones from her bag.

Claude looks over at the Snitch screen and snorts when he sees that she's playing Duck Incognito. "Are you one for wreaking havoc, Hilda?"

Hilda shrugs, more focused on the cartoon duck currently dragging a rake towards the river. "I guess I can be," she says through her bubblegum before blowing an impressive bubble. "Are you?"

"Eh, I've had my fair share of trouble already," Claude deflects, shifting his attention between Holst's presentation and Hilda's game. Hilda grins deviously.

"That sounds like a fun story you'll have to tell me over lunch." Hilda pauses the game for a moment and looks over to Holst. "He'll be done in like two minutes, all he'll do is introduce his boyfriend..."

Right on cue, a student with dark blue, curly hair stands up and walks over to stand next to Holst and continue the presentation.

"...and invite everyone to join the meetings. Thursdays at 4 pm." Hilda rolls her eyes again and slumps further down in her seat. "They've been convincing me to join for ages already but like, I don't want to do the whole management stuff. And since they're both graduating this semester, they want someone to take over, and of course that someone is me as if I don't have anything better to do."

“Do you?” Claude asks, unable to resist the temptation.

“Uh, yeah? I don’t need all the stress from managing a committee when I could be sewing fancy shirts like this one.”

“That’s a very fancy shirt indeed, by the way,” Claude says, earning him a grin and a “thanks, you’re really sweet.” Jackpot. Giving people compliments is the easiest way to have them on your side.

Hilda turns back to the game, and Claude turns back to his thoughts.

He was already toying with the idea of joining because frankly, why wouldn't he? He's good at debating, he enjoys it, and he's bound to pick up one handy skill or another along the way. But if the leadership is bound to change soon and there’ll be an open position… well, that would be a whole new level of usefulness, both in terms of skills and in terms of his resumé. Running a successful debate team is bound to impress. And again, he might have fun along the way, too. What was the meeting time again? Thursdays at 4?

"Claude?" Hilda waves a hand. "Ugh, can't you listen when I'm talking to you?"

Claude manages not to jump in his seat. "I was indeed listening, thank you very much. Just... thinking."

Hilda's unimpressed stare is impressive itself, for lack of a better term. "About....?"

"...about the debate club," Claude clarifies. Still no answer from Hilda. Damn, she's good at making people talk, Claude thinks with a sigh and leaves his sorry attempt at secrecy be. Honesty seems to be a better policy with Hilda. "Alright, I was thinking that if you don't want to take over the club, I might just be able to help you out."

"Uh-huh, and how exactly would you do that?" Hilda raises a thin eyebrow. "By taking over yourself or what?"

Yep. Definitely the best policy. "Pretty much," Claude concedes. "You got me there."

Hilda hums and turns back to her game, absentmindedly offering Claude one of her earphones. When he puts it in, he is greeted with a quack so loud he flinches. Judging by Hilda's smirk, it was absolutely intended. And there’s his answer about Hilda wreaking havoc.

"I mean, like, I'm not against it, you seem pretty chill," Hilda says. "Buuuuut, you're gonna have to run this by Holst and Glenn and boy, let me tell you, Glenn can be such a pain in the bum. And apparently, his little brother is even worse. Really hope I never meet that guy." She wrinkles her nose and takes out a pocket watch from her... pants? Breeches? Then, she groans. "Uuuuugh, I thought the whole thing was gonna be over already, but we still need to wait for like half an hour before we're finally free. And I so don't care about any of the other committees here."

Claude looks over to Glenn and Holst walking away from the front of the classroom and being replaced by two other students, who start talking about a journalism committee. "What, journalism doesn't sound fun to you, Hilda?" Claude clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "I'm disappointed,” he adds, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Claude," Hilda replies in a suffering voice. "Honey." Claude snorts at the title. "I'm a journalism minor, I don't need even more shitty articles and photos of the dean's cat in my life. Trust me. They're not worth my time, or anyone’s, really."

"What, the cat pictures?"

Hilda sighs and slumps even further into her seat which, for the record, requires some impressive contortion and abs for her not to fall off the seat. It seems like there's more to her than she lets on. "No,” she groans, “ not the cat pictures.” With the dramatic moment over, she sits back up. “For real, though, the journalism club is really not well-organised. Or well-funded. And that has been since, like, I started studying I guess? Which was only one year ago, but still."

Claude looks at the slides again, with text in Comic Sans font, and clings to the hope that this was done ironically. In his left ear, there's another loud quack.

"Trust me, that's not a clever joke or something. They've been really trying to bring back Comic Sans and make it cool again, except, come on, it's Comic Sans." Hilda sighs theatrically. "Even I could do better than that."

"And you won't because... you've got better things to do?" Claude asks.

Hilda shrugs and looks at her fingernails. "Sort of, I guess. Like I don't do a lot of stuff besides sewing and video games but also, even nothing is more productive than what that club is doing."

Claude chuckles. "You know," he says, "you're a weird person, Hilda.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “I like you."

Hilda giggles. "Awww, thanks! You're weird, too. But I know literally nothing about you so don't take it personally, I've got no idea if I like you yet. I mean, I don't even know your last name."

"I don't know yours, either," Claude replies.

"Goneril."

Man, she's tough. "Alright, von Riegan."

"Oooooh," Hilda says. "Mister- _Sir_ Claude von Riegan, that sounds super-fancy. Are you, like, nobility or something?"

"Not to my knowledge." Claude grimaces. "Really hope I'm not, though."

"Mood." Then, Hilda's eyes light up, which, admittedly, does put Claude a little on edge. "Oh, oh, but with a name like yours, you've just _got_ to let me sew you something." She taps her chin in thought, mustering Claude up and down. "Pirate shirt?"

"Pirate shirt?"

Hilda lifts her arms a little, showcasing the full glory of her poofy sleeves. "Yeah, pirate shirt. Well, technically, everyone wore shirts like this one in the 18th century. Literally everyone. Well, mostly guys, but you know. Who cares. Anyways, ever since Pirates of the Nabatean came out, that's what people associate those shirts with." She pauses for a moment. "You do know the movie, right?"

"Uh-huh," Claude says. "Yeah. I do."

He doesn't. That is, he knows the music, and what it's about (sort of), but when all his classmates watched it, he wasn't invited. Not that it was a big surprise, though.

"So do you want one or not?"

Wow, way to put him on the spot like this. Claude looks Hilda, brow furrowed, and looks her up and down. It looks great, Hilda clearly knows her stuff when it comes to sewing, and it's not that he doesn't like it, but... it just doesn't seem like something he'd wear. Not to mention the low neckline that would definitely make his binder visible. Definitely not something he wants to happen. Claude presses his lips together as he tries to think of a way to politely decline without prompting further questions from Hilda.

"You know," Hilda says, "if you don't want one, it's not a problem. I'm not about to throw a hissy fit because of that."

"Okay."

"I mean it. I'm not about to throw a hissy fit just because you don't want a pirate shirt. I'd rather make something for you that you'll actually enjoy, you know? No rush, though, I got plenty of other projects lined up."

Actually, that's a really nice sentiment. Maybe- No, Hilda definitely seems like a nice person. Claude doesn't want to make her upset, which is all the more reason for his relief when he can decline after all. "Thanks," he says. "Yeah, it's... probably for the better if we come back to this at a later point. Not that I don't appreciate the offer, but- I don't quite think it's the style I'm going for?"

"What are you going for? Start-up-manager-to-be?"

"Now, Hilda, listen here," Claude says, looking down at himself and noticing that he's wearing a black turtleneck and beige, plaid trousers. "Actually, I take that back. Fair. Fine, I guess that's what I'm going for."

Hilda snorts. "You're welcome. I can also make you something else, you know, but like - no rush. If you figure out what you want to do with yourself instead of the current basic set-up you've got going for you, let me know. Or don't, like, whatever."

"Cool, I will." So that's a dodged bullet for sure. Hilda's assessment does sting a little, but Claude really, really can't protest because unfortunately, she's right. In any case, he should change the topic now if he wants Hilda to stop asking questions.

"So if you started studying a year ago, why are you here?" he asks, hoping that this is a good diversion. "I thought you have better things to do."

"Uh, because my brother was having a presentation and he gets super-anxious about stuff? Also, I switched. I was a Journalism major and International Relations minor last year, but turns out I'm like, more interested in the political aspect of everything. Like, I want to actually _do_ stuff, not write about it. The journalism welcome week was sooo much better though, you can't even imagine."

"Nope, I can't," Claude says.

His words, unfortunately, get drowned out by an airhorn when the students in front start to roll a clip of unenthusiastic off-key rapping about the university laid on top of room-vibrating techno. Specifically, to the melody and rhythm of Smash Face's "All Car". The video is... yeah, Claude can definitely see Hilda's point. Not even the committee's claim that it was a "parody" on "conventional rap videos" helps. After two more than just cringe-worthy minutes, the video ends, and Claude feels like he aged ten years.

"Wow," he says slowly after blinking a few times. "They sure seem to take themselves real serious."

"Told you. And this isn't even the worst one they've made yet. Although the show they made for pride week last year was pretty stylish, gotta hand it to them." She takes out her pocket watch again. "Oh finally, we're almost done. Do you have class after this, Claude?"

"Lunch break first, but yeah." Claude unlocks his BiPhone to check his schedule. "So I have Political Literacy at 2. You?"

"Hey, that's a pretty nice course! I had that one last year, the prof made us read Barx and Bangles' Manifestos and analyse them from a rhetorical standpoint. I've got Ethics in Media, which, I guess it’s fine. Heard it's being taught by TAs only, though." Hilda pauses her game for a moment. "Also, when I said almost done, I meant this," she gestures around with a manicured hand, "shenanigan thingy over here. Not your company. You're coming with me for lunch."

There's a finger pointing at him, and Claude pauses for a second.

"Now, Hilda," he says slowly, "you might call me overly cautious, but that just sounded very much like a threat." There's another loud quack in his ear when Hilda starts the game again and chases an innocent civilian into a taxi. 

"Who knows? Maybe it is."

The devious grin on her face is back. Claude watches the cab drive off and wonders just how big the fare would be in real life. 

Hilda pats Claude's shoulder. "Nah, don't worry, I'm just messing with you. I'm not really mean to people who can't do shit to me. Again, no offense. You just seem like a really nice guy!"

"Uh, thanks?" That does nothing to lessen Claude's confusion.

Hilda rolls her eyes. "What I'm saying is, I think you're pretty cool and I want to get to know you a little better. Also vet you a bit for the committee but that's more, like, a positive side effect because Glenn and Holst are gonna do that anyway. So for now, all I want is some decent company for lunch. You in?"

"Sure?" Claude says.

Hm. He still needs to figure Hilda out, but... lunch with her sounds like something to look forward to. Hopefully, at least.

* * *

Thursday, September 25th, 18:17

After finding someone to spend the rest of the welcome week (and hopefully the general courses in the weeks to follow) with, the whole "getting told the same organisational things over and over again even though they’re clearly written in the syllabus and everywhere else" gets significantly less boring. Not to mention that Hilda is one of the funniest people Claude has ever met. And to be honest, the first meeting of the debate club is fun, too. He doesn’t really mind the other people there, even if all of them except for two are the loudest, most extroverted bunch of students he could have imagined. Holst and Glenn seem to have taken a liking to him. That’s definitely good. 

When Claude volunteers to prepare a brief workshop on the competition rules, Hilda doesn’t waste a single second before inviting herself over to his place. While he does all the work - because what else would their arrangement be - she just sits cross-legged on his bed, hand-embroidering a corset and complaining about how apparently the movie industry does everything wrong in their portrayal of corsets. And how people did not, in fact, get sick from wearing them and how it wasn't even just women and all sorts of other things that Claude may not have saved permanently in his brain, but that sure keep his mind active as he works his way through the ruleset and compiles a decent PowerDot presentation for next Thursday.

It's not that hard, really. People go out in teams of two each; the team that starts speaking knows the topic as well as their standpoint in advance, and in return the other team can choose pretty much any other standpoint as long as it opposes that of team A. So you either have to deal with hard restrictions or know how to be spontaneous and flexible. Actually, scratch that, it's not an "either-or". You have to be good at both, because this, too, is randomly assigned to teams for eaach specific match. 

There's a set speaking order and speaking time, each team has a limited amount of times they can interrupt the current speaker to object or ask questions, and after thirty minutes, they're expected to come to a close before each team gets their score from 0 to 10. The team with the most points at the end of the day wins, and if there's a tie for first place, there's another match with some special rules. Pretty easy to understand, if you ask Claude.

The challenge is to turn this into an actually interesting presentation that doesn't make anyone zone out. But by the looks of it, he succeeds. Hilda grins throughout the entire half an hour, and she's even paying attention despite the fact that she already heard it once before when Claude was rehearsing. Lysithea and Ignatz take notes even after he tells them there'll be a handout later. One of the memes on his PowerDot actually makes Marianne smile, timid Marianne who hadn't even said a single thing during the last meeting. Even Lorenz, who's clearly after the same leadership position as Claude, walks up to him later to give some praise, not to mention Glenn and Holst. Glenn's "not bad" is a thinly-veiled "congratulations, you did an excellent job".

They finish at around 6, and everyone goes out to the nearby grocery store and comes back with, as Holst puts it, "a coping beverage of their choice", which is definitely an expression Claude will use from now on. In this case, his choice falls on cider - barely any alcohol, just a nice taste, and while money is tight, so is serotonin.

Lysithea forgoes the alcohol in favour of sweet iced tea and what can only be described in broad terms as a fuckton of chocolate. And cookies. And gummy bears. And-

"Are you gonna eat all of this?" Raphael asks at the checkout line as package after package of pure sugar is being loaded onto the conveyor belt.

Lysithea eyes him warily. "Maybe. Why?"

"I was just gonna ask if I could have some!" Raphael says. "Just a little bit. And I'll help you carry the rest back to campus in return, how does that sound?"

Claude tries to suppress a laugh as Lysithea fervently denies she's in need of any help and then realises she can't take the shopping cart with her past the premises of the store. 

"Fine," she grumbles. "I guess you can help me, and in turn, I'll share with you.” It just takes her one look at everyone’s hungry eyes to realise she’s fighting a losing battle. “And the rest of the team, I suppose." 

Heck yeah, Claude thinks and scratches out some change from his wallet to pay for his cider (and pitch in with Lysithea's bill, he's not an asshole).

When Claude returns home about an hour later, he's tired, a little buzzed, and there's no need for him to have dinner after all the sweets he just ate. Good. His fridge contents will last longer then. But he’s also in a good mood. In a way, it feels like the start of a cheesy Young Adult movie, except without the romance. Which, to be honest, Claude doesn’t terribly mind, he can easily do without the whole hassle connected to dating.

And also, YA movies never show the boring part, like the fact that Claude's got ten more pages of reading to get through before class tomorrow. And then he should start preparing for the upcoming mock debate. And call Judith. 

Yeah, he’ll probably call Judith tomorrow. She'll be happy to hear things are fine on his side.

For once in his life, they really are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fun:  
> How to make a [pirate shirt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ql9r8UKIvZs) by Bernadette Banner  
> Very entertaining mythbusting videos re:corsets [Nr 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rExJskBZcW0) & [Nr 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1y25Go12sUg) by Bernadette Banner, and [Nr 3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNwTqanp0Aw) by Karolina Żebrowska
> 
> Claude: I could do without romance for now.  
> Me: Oh, really? Too bad.


	3. October - Claude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Claude is confident that everything will be fine, the first competition arrives and turns everything on its head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Claude gets deadnamed, and as this happens in front of his team, he proceeds to spiral into a panic attack. While everything turns out find in the end, there are content warnings for somewhat graphic metaphors related to Claude's panic attack and referenced transphobia. The following scene also discusses racist/colonialist imagery. Please take care when reading!

Saturday, October 10th, 09:07

The day starts off great. Claude is looking sharp, wearing his favorite cufflinks, the weather is nice, and his team is more than ready. They're here to debate, and sure, having fun is part of it - but, most importantly, they're here to win.

"Listen up," Glenn says in the classroom that will serve as both a locker and prep room during the competition. The whole team is gathered around him, tension in the air. "This is a mock debate. As I said, your best chance to gain experience and try things out. Especially try out who you can work well with, and see if you can find out something about the other teams' weaknesses. Because this is the first time for many of you, you'll even get one freebie from me." 

Glenn smirks, dragging his lower lip through his teeth as he pauses for a moment. 

"I know a lot of the people from the Law team, so you better not underestimate them. You want to send out your most experienced people against them. I checked, and we're up in the third round, so an hour after the whole show starts."

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" Leonie asks, and Claude nods along. He was wondering the same thing. 

"Both," Glenn replies. "The advantage is that you won’t be tired. The disadvantage is that you won’t have a feel for the debates yet, so if you need me or Holst to jump in and help out, you better tell us. I don't want to lose because some of you have a superiority complex of needing to do everything on your own." 

Claude chuckles to himself. From what he's heard about Glenn's family from Hilda, he's definitely not one to talk. 

Glenn and Holst volunteer to do the first debate of the day before taking their computers and heading off to the Law department's reading room to do some work. This leaves the rest of the strategizing to Claude - not that he particularly minds. He's good at this, he's confident in himself, in his team and in all the preparation they've been doing, and so fitting everyone into time slots and planning everything is finished in twenty minutes. 

When Hilda calls his name for the first time, he barely registers it, and it takes a second "Claude!" for him to look up.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Can you come over here for a sec?"

"Sure." Claude walks over to her across the room. "What's up?"

Hilda just points at the sheet of paper in her hand - the one with all their names printed on it that they were given at the registration desk. "So, I don't know what's going on, but your name isn't on here."

That should already have been a huge warning.

"Well that's not right," Claude just says instead, painfully oblivious to what this means. "Let me see."

Well. Painfully oblivious, sure, but not for long. When Hilda shows the signup sheet to him, Claude stares at the paper, trying to figure out whether this is an elaborate prank. But there it is, black on white.

"Right? It's so weird," Hilda talks on, as if she doesn't notice Claude's frozen expression. Or maybe he's better at pretending than he gives himself credit for. "Like, there is a von Riegan, but that's definitely not your name, right? Or did you just give me an alias, and Claude isn't actually your real name and you’re some sort of secret agent?"

Claude opens his mouth, trying to say something, but nothing comes out. He doesn't have a witty reply to this. If this was about literally anything else, he'd just sarcastically take the falsehood and spin it further, making up an incredulous story that people know isn't true, but this? This is different and it's definitely, definitely not good.

"Claude? You there?" 

"Hey, what's the matter?" another voice comes in from behind. A few seconds later, Claude recognises it as Leonie's.

Before his mind can catch on, he quickly takes the paper from Hilda and puts it face-down on the nearest table. 

"Hey!" Hilda protests, then turns towards Leonie and starts explaining the situation as Claude desperately tries to get his brain to focus, but it's no use. What started off as barely more than a fog, clammy and obscuring and unpleasant but not dangerous, is slowly turning into a piercing hailstorm.

"Huh, that's strange," he hears Leonie say, then registers with shock that her hand is stretched out towards the paper. "Can I see?"

No, Claude thinks, tightening his grip on the name list. The paper crinkles underneath his hand. No, you can't.

"Claude?" he distantly hears Hilda ask. "Hello, anyone here?"

Yes, he's here, wants to reply, it's him, it's a weird clerical error and he has no idea whose name it is, except he does know and how is he supposed to tell a convincing lie when he’s struggling to even breathe? Come on, he screams at himself internally, focus and think on your feet. Say something, deny, admit, do anything, just don’t stand still. Standing still makes you an easy target. You don't want that.

Claude takes a deep breath through his nose and opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. All the words are stuck in his lungs and piling up in his chest. Surely someone must have figured out that something's not right and done the math; Claude definitely would have.

"Um, Claude?" Marianne says next to him, and with a start he realises his entire team is now gathered around him. This is bad. This is really, really bad.

"Alright, everyone out! I'll handle this," someone shouts next to him. Lysithea, by the sound of it. "Claude, you sit down."

Sitting down? He's sinking into quicksand right now, and try as he might to get his feet out, struggling only makes it worse. He tries to latch on to Lysithea's words, even as everyone else keeps staring at him. First, find a chair to sit down, or better yet start breathing properly so your field of vision adjusts. Yeah. That sounds like a good plan, in theory. His palms hurt from how hard his fingernails dig into them. How he’s supposed to sit down right now, Claude has no idea.

When Lysithea places her hands on his shoulders to push him down, he flinches from the contact, expecting to land on the floor. Instead, the backs of his knees touch what must be a chair. So now he's sitting, down which would be great if it didn't mean that now everyone was towering over him, staring at him like he’s some sort of trapped feral animal. Stop staring at me, he wants to scream.

Lysithea takes a deep breath, then raises her voice again. "I said, everyone out. How would you feel if you had a panic attack and everyone just watched you spiral?"

She's right, Claude thinks, and some people must have realised that too, because a few of them leave the room and it instantly feels like there's more oxygen around him. Not a lot, but enough for him to just barely keep his head above the water flooding his lungs. Through his blurred vision - fuck, is he really going to start crying now? - Claude sees Hilda shake her head, pink curls flying through the air. 

"I wanna stay, Claude's my buddy and I want to know what's going on."

If the first half of the sentence gave him just a tiny bit of warmth against the pelting storm, the second part turns the hail into icy knives. Shit, he'll either need to keep a convincing lie for years or come out to Hilda and everyone and Hilda is the first friend he made here, he is not prepared to lose everything all over again so quickly, not even a month in.

"Everyone means everyone," Lysithea insists, stomping her foot, "and unless you also volunteer for crisis hotlines in your free time, I think I'm better equipped to deal with the situation than you. If you really want to help, then I suggest you keep the team calm and make sure everyone's quiet outside." 

Hilda sighs loudly, then looks over at Claude. "Are you okay with this?"

Is he okay with what exactly? Hilda leaving him alone? He’d better get used to this, so he shrugs. There's shuffling, then the door closes, and Lysithea enters his field of vision. He needs to start thinking of a good lie to tell her and everyone else. But of course, his brain is not feeling like being cooperative at all.

"Claude, I need you to focus! Now is not the time for distractions or idle thoughts," Lysithea says. "Pay attention to your breathing."

Idle thoughts? Distractions? If Claude wasn't spiralling right now, he'd get angry. Actually, scratch that, he is angry. Angry and terrified. How the hell did the organisers let this happen and not double-check all the paperwork and registration forms? And how did he not expect this to happen at all? He should have arrived earlier and checked the lists himself before letting Glenn and Holst handle it, and he's gonna have to do this from now on, isn't he? As if he didn't have anything else to worry about, no, now he'll also have to take care of that. 

Lysithea crouches down in front of him. "Hey. Concentrate on getting your breathing back to normal. Don't hyperfocus on what makes you so scared in the first place, alright?"

Easy for her to say, Claude thinks bitterly, but some part of him does listen. Breathing. Claude tries to take his time on the next inhale, but with his throat seizing up, shallow breaths are all he can do. Just don't cry, he tells himself, whatever you do, don't cry. It's bad enough that everyone saw you break down into a panic attack, you don't need to add crying to your public list of weaknesses. 

Lysithea glances up at him.

"Do you want me to help with this?" she says. "I know a handy trick."

"What kind of trick?"

"Alright, so - picture a feather floating in front of you."

Claude presses his lips together and gives her a shaky nod.

"You can close your eyes if you need to. And then," Lysithea adds, "I need you to remember that your breathing is what keeps the feather floating, so you've got to do it as evenly as possible."

Claude swallows. Okay. Feather, breathing, floating. When he closes his eyes, he imagines an iridescent feather, focusing on the way light reflects off of it. On his inhale, the feather rises, downs softly fluttering in the air. He exhales through his mouth. The feather sinks slowly, as do his tensed-up shoulders.

Lysithea hums and says something along the lines of "Keep this up."

So he tries. Claude is going to be in so much trouble afterwards, he's willing to bet on that, but the least he can do is make sure he's ready for the trouble when it rears its second ugly head. So he does his best to concentrate on the feather and blend out everything else. Inhale, rise, exhale, sink. After a few more breaths, he tries to unclench his fists. His hands are shaking, and in the distance, he hears paper crinkling when the signup sheet he was holding falls to the ground. The signup sheet with his deadname on it. No, ignore that. Inhale, rise. Exhale, sink. 

Slowly, it gets better. By the sound of it, Hilda stayed true to her word, because there are no noises outside the room. Either the team is quiet or they went somewhere else. Claude takes another deep breath. He'll figure it out. He's clever. There's gonna be a way to get out of this. Inhale - rise. Exhale - sink.

Eventually, when Claude opens his eyes, he discovers that the darkness surrounding his vision has vanishd, and breathing is easier, too. As he lets his gaze drift over the room, he notices Lysithea sitting on a desk next to him, dangling her legs and looking outside the window. The signup sheet is on the ground next to his feet. Claude stares at it, unmoving, as if it's going to bite him. It might. No, it already has.

Thankfully, Lysithea interrupts his thoughts. "So... I have some questions, but don't feel like you need to answer if you don't want to. Deal?"

Claude pauses for a moment to think. Surely, there must be a way to get out of this with an excuse, but the longer he mulls his options over, the more he realises that even if there is one - he just can't find it. Even putting aside having to keep a lie in place for an impossibly long time, the most plausible explanation is "long-lost relative" and again, that is just the most plausible option. Claude briefly considers some other possibilities, then sighs. There is no way around but through.

So truth it is.

"Yeah. Deal."

Lysithea nods. "The name on the list," she starts.

Seconds pass by without her continuing.

"What about it?" Claude replies eventually.

Lysithea looks like she's trying out different phrasings in her head, and finally, she exhales. "Is that a name you want to be called?"

"No."

It's a knee-jerk reaction. With Lysithea being taller than him for once thanks to her desk and his chair, this feels like an interrogation, and Claude hates it. Briefly, he leans forward, testing whether he can stand up without showing how shaky his legs still are. When he doesn't get a conclusive answer, he gets up anyways with a sigh.

"And, to be perfectly honest with you... I'd be happy if you could forget that name entirely. As well as my reaction to it."

If only that was actually possible. He swallows, then takes a few steps towards the window, trying to figure out how to explain.

Lysithea interrupts his thoughts once more. "If I may ask... you're trans, aren't you?"

"That obvious, huh?"

Whether Lysithea ignores his question out of politeness or not knowing what to say, Claude can't tell. "You know that pretty much everyone in the team is queer one way or another, right?"

Claude looks at the blackboard with their team matchups, at the backpacks and jackets strewn around the room. Some of them have rainbow pins on them, but that doesn't have to say anything. "I didn't, no. And I also don't exactly go around assuming people's identities."

"Well we don't, either. So your question of obviousness isn't the one you should be asking."

Claude scoffs. "That's very nice of you to say, Lysithea," he says, unable to prevent the bitterness from seeping into his voice, " but it's actually not quite that easy, you know? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd _love_ to pretend that it is as much as the next guy, but what people see when they look at you matters because depending on how well you pass, your entire livelihood can be affected." 

Lysithea hops down from the table and crosses her arms. "I understand your anger, but please don’t take it out on me." 

"Sorry." Claude takes a deep breath, then tries again. He does not want his teammates mad at him. "Alright, sorry, for real this time."

"That's okay," Lysithea says, then pauses. "I think I phrased myself rather poorly, actually, so I've got to apologise, too." Claude glances over at her. "What I meant to say," Lysithea continues, "was that I understand your reaction. Nobody likes having their secrets exposed, especially not the harmful ones. It's just that... in this case, you have nothing to fear from us. I promise. Especially since you're not the only person on the team who isn't cis."

Wait, whoa, what? Who else is not? How come Lysithea knows and he doesn't, with how hard he's been trying to figure out everyone on his team? Actually, no, that's a question best saved for later - there are more pressing matters at hand. 

"Alright," he says. It's absurd how much just the knowledge that someone on his team might legitimately understand his situation helps him calm down. "So what should I do, in your opinion? Any... hot tips, for coming out to an entire group of people?"

"First of all, you don't have to."

Claude scoffs.

"I mean it. Nobody is forcing you to do anything, and I can assure you that nobody will pry if you decide that this isn't something you want to share with the team."

He's exhausted already and the debates haven't even started. Actually, on that matter... Claude picks up his phone from the desk next to him to check time. Fifteen minutes left until Glenn and Holst's debate. 

He takes a deep breath and thinks back to the past twenty minutes.

“You volunteer at crisis hotlines?”

Lysithea nods. “Yes. I’m sorry for kicking out Hilda and everyone else, but I really needed to give you some space so you could concentrate on calming down.”

“It’s fine,” Claude says absentmindedly. For all it’s worth, he hasn’t told Hilda anything at all about his life and she still wanted to help him right now, so maybe he should give her the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe he shouldn't, and all her goodwill will stop once she learns more about him. But the only way to find out is to actually do it.

"I think..." he says slowly. 

"Well, that's certainly a good start."

Claude snorts. "Thank you. No, I think I will tell them. But not right now, I still need to go to the registration desk and make sure they change my name there. I don't ever want this to happen again."

"Yes, getting deadnamed is never pleasant, I wholeheartedly agree." 

Hold on. "Wait, are you-"

"No, not really." Lysithea briefly looks down at the floor. "At least, nothing clear. I... don't like getting labels for it. She/her is fine, Lysithea is fine, but that is about all I know."

Claude nods. "I see." That answers his previous question. "Well, thank you for telling me. I appreciate it. And I'm sorry for getting mad at you earlier, I'm usually more in charge of what I say. Just... stressed. Which I know doesn't excuse it," Claude raises his hands, "but also 'stressed' doesn't even remotely cut it." He sighs. "You know how it is. Anyway. Shall we get on with our business?"

"We shall indeed," Lysithea says. "Since not all matchups are planned out yet, would you like to join me for the debate against Law?"

Claude thinks for a moment. The two of them might not make such a bad team, actually. "Sure, why not... See you in fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, that sounds good," Lysithea says before sitting down at a desk and taking out her glasses from her backpack. Just as Claude is about to head for the door, however, she calls him back.

"What?"

Lysithea gives him a stern glare. With her glasses, it actually does look stern. "Next time, maybe try to remember that we're actually a team and not out to get you?"

Ouch. That's another callout from her, and again, she's right. They are a team. So Claude better get his act together instead of needing to be talked through an existential crisis. Claude nods again at Lysithea, mutters an affirmative, then slips out of the room and goes off to find the registration desk.

* * *

Saturday, October 10th, 09:39

So.

There goes his plan to just have a normal student life without sticking out and running into obstacles, Claude thinks. Really, he should have expected that something like this would happen, but he was too preoccupied with the goal to pay attention to the rocky path that leads there. And now he's tripped and fallen, because that's what happens when you have your head in the clouds.

Come on, Claude tells himself. It's fine. Worse things have happened to him, but this is not the end of the world. Sure, this isn't how he wanted to come out, but- well, he hadn't wanted to come out at all, actually. There was no reason to. As nice as his team may be, they're just other people from university and the last thing he needed was everyone making a fuss about him being trans. But now, all he's going to be is their "trans teammate" instead of just... himself. Claude. Being trans is an aspect of who he is, of course it is, but it's absolutely not the most important thing about him. He has dreams, he has ambitions, he has goals, and most of them are not centered around this really personal part of his life. And it's not anyone's business but his own - or at least, it wouldn't have been if he was given any choice at all on that matter.

Alas, he wasn't. Coming out was the only way for him to still have some sense of control of what they know about him. 

Even if everyone reacted well (certainly better than his parents and grandparents did)... now they've seen him scared and vulnerable. And he hates that.

Come on, buddy, Claude tells himself again. Get yourself together. This is _fine_ . Far, _far_ worse things have happened, his teammates are good people, and now the issue is sorted out for good. The registration desk just asked for his ID and corrected his name and that's it, and if anyone asks, he can just deflect and tell them it’s private. Not everyone constantly sticks their nose into other people’s business like Claude does. 

Lost in thought as he is, Claude walks through the Law department, puzzling together the room numbers to figure out where to go. He told Glenn and Holst he’d watch their debate, and with only ten minutes left, he’d better hurry.

Unfortunately, the Law department is big, big enough to get lost in. And just as Claude thinks he found his way (up one floor and to the right), he turns a corner and walks straight into a hall that might as well be in a museum. All around the perimeter, statues stare past him with empty eyes. A wide staircase winds its way towards the next floor. And to top it all off, grand marble columns hold up a ceiling that, when Claude looks up, is actually a fresco with some extremely muscular hero at the center. Despite the white marble, despite the few windows letting in orange flashes of maple leaves, the room feels incredibly cold and alienating. Claude's careful steps echo off the granite floor and walls. Besides that, there is no other sound in the hall. All the students must be somewhere else. The silence is eerie. He doesn’t like it one bit. 

As he walks towards the stairs, Claude's eyes keep drifting towards the ceiling mural. Eventually, he comes to a stop and lifts his head to look up and this time, he notices that there are actually two armies fighting. The longer he looks, the more he notices - and the less he likes it. The army in the foreground is led by the hero and brandishes gleaming swords. The army in the background… well, really, they’re not even an army. They’re just a bunch of hunched-over people dressed in furs, holding crude wooden clubs. They barely look human, and of course they're not white. Their skin is as dark as Claude’s, their hair is black and curly like his, but they look nothing like him. That’s not who Claude is - but it’s what the artist saw when he looked at Claude’s people.

Claude’s stomach turns. The IR building may be modernised to the point of ugliness, but ugly architecture is still better than proud racism.

Someone next to him clears their throat, and Claude turns around to see a student with blonde hair.

"Not one of our most shining moments, I'm afraid.” They smile awkwardly.

Claude returns it with his widest polite smile - the one that doesn’t even try to hide his disdain. “You don’t say,” he nearly says, but manages to turn it into a more diplomatic “Is that so?”

"Students have been protesting for years to take that down, but the department has refused so far.” After a moment of silence, they add, “I'm truly sorry you had to see this."

Claude scoffs under his breath. "So am I.”

"Pardon?"

"Nothing."

An awkward silence emerges. 

"I take it you study Law, then?" Claude asks after a while. Why is he making small talk with a random student now? He should be going if he doesn’t want to be late. 

The student nods stiffly. "Yes, but I'm only a first-year. Um... if I may ask, has everything been alright so far? We're the ones hosting, after all, so if something has been bothering you, please tell me."

It's probably meant as a genuine and nice question - but Claude's smile is drenched in bitterness. He should be going. He really should. But he can’t resist the question.

"Oh don't worry,” he says, voice dripping with bitterness and spite, “everything's been going smoothly. Well, aside from the fact that the registration desk somehow got one of my teammate's names wrong, but that's basically negligible, right?" It should be nothing. He shouldn't be this upset about such a small thing. "A name is just a name, nothing more. Worse things happen around us every day."

His parents once told him that after he kept correcting them about his name - but for some reason, it’s the student in front of him that flinches, and Claude’s mind latches onto that small gesture. Whatever it is, he will figure out how to turn this into an advantage for himself. He doesn’t care if it’s personal and petty and beneath him, after what today has put him through already, he deserves to win - and he’s going to get that victory no matter what.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, Claude, I'm sorry for having you go through this. It's gonna get better soon, though. Promised.
> 
> Thank you so so so much [Prompt](https://twitter.com/rainglazedpaint) for the amazing art to this chapter! I've been looking forward to posting it for so long, and it's finally here! <3 Please go and check their stuff out, they've been a real MVP all this while.


	4. October - Dimitri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps it's time for Dimitri to question his motivations, to face his past, and to make plans for the immediate future. Perhaps? No, definitely. Because with how the competition goes today, he won't have much of a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY a chapter without content warnings! Well, that is, they do argue a lot, but- you know. Enemies to lovers. Rivals to lovers. You've got to start somewhere. Enjoy!

Saturday, October 10th, 07:44

The day starts off so great. Autumn is generally Dimitri’s favourite time of the year, and when he steps outside the dorm, he’s greeted by a beautiful, fresh October morning. Well, that and Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix waiting for him. This month, their faculty is hosting the debate; so on the one hand, they'll kick off the competitions with a space everyone on their team is familiar with. However, on the other hand (clearly noticeable with Ingrid, yawning every three seconds until she chugs a can of Eldritch Energy), it means getting up early on a Saturday just to push around some tables and chairs.

But honestly, the beautiful sky is more than worth it.

And besides, thanks to Ingrid and Eldritch, they’re finished half an hour earlier than planned, which would have been great to use for final preparations… if it wasn’t for everyone’s nervousness. Ingrid, jittery and over-caffeinated as always, goes out for even more coffee and croissants together with Mercedes. Ashe, Dedue, Sylvain and Felix start going over the rules again to make sure they have everything down correctly. Dimitri sits in the corner of the common room, lost in thought, and watches Annette as she rifles through a gigantic stack of notes, getting more and more distraught by the second.

When she fumbles with her hands and drops her notes, shuffling them all over again after the ten minutes she just spent ordering them, she lets out a frustrated wail that cuts into Dimitri’s core (as well as his ears).

“Do you… want to take a walk to the town square, perhaps?” he suggests, and Annette nods.

They leave the building, Annette buys some bread for the pigeons along the way, and when they arrive at the square and sit down on a bench in front of the fountain, Annette doesn’t waste a single second before declaring her troubles.

“I just really don’t want to let everyone else down, you know?” she says, and oh, Dimitri does. No doubt about it, he certainly, absolutely does know what she’s talking about.

He nods, waiting for her to continue.

Annette tears off a piece of bread with perhaps more vigor than is necessary, and it flies straight out of her hand. She grumbles, then sighs. “This is a team thing, I know that, but a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, you know? I… I really don’t want to be the reason for our failure.”

“I really understand that.” Dimitri briefly looks at her. He can work with metaphors. “But I don’t quite agree with that imagery… rather, I’d say that a team is only as good as the support it offers to that weak link. Or anyone on the team, really.”

Annette bites her lip and nods, as if Dimitri struck a nerve.

“Ultimately…” Dimitri pauses, trying to adjust the words appropriately. “What I can offer you are several things. If you just want me to listen, I can do that. Or alternatively, I can give you advice or emotional support, whichever you think will help you most right now - although I’m usually not that great with the third option.”

Annette chews on her lower lip. “Can I get all three?”

“Of course.” Dimitri chuckles softly. “But I do want to mention that these competitions are not even really about winning or losing. At least, they aren’t for me. I get the most joy out of learning new things, and seeing how other people think or negotiate. If you want the competitions to be about winning, though, I… I’ll do my best to help you- help us get there.”

“Oh, but you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind,” Dimitri says. “Really.”

Annette shakes her hair. Her bangs shimmer in the sunlight. “No, I mean, thanks, I appreciate it, really, but I probably shouldn’t tie my self-worth to something like that. It’s low enough already.” For a moment, her expression freezes. “Uhm, forget I said that, please. I was just kidding.”

Dimitri blinks slowly. That small sentence is a lot to process, and he’s not sure how to react to it.

Annette laughs awkwardly.

“Are you… alright?” Dimitri asks.

In response, Annette grimaces. “Sometimes, yeah. Right now, not one-hundred percent? But it’s fine. I mean, I’ll be fine. Eventually. I have a therapist, and it’s getting better. Just… complicated family stuff. Long story.”

“Okay.”

“Uhm, anyway, the debate?” Annette tears off some more bread and throws it at the group of pigeons a few meters away. “My problems are probably too big to get into right now, but I really really appreciate you asking. And honestly, I am getting better. Slowly. Adulting is hard.”

Dimitri nods again. He already said he’s not that great with emotional support, but he’s also not great with sudden topic changes.

When he tells her, Annette startles a little. “Oh, you’re right, I’m sorry! I guess that’s a skill I should be working on.”

“Is this your first competition?” Dimitri asks.

“No, I’ve already participated in a few last semester. We weren’t really good, though, Mercie mostly carried us through everything, and compared to how you and your friends argued during the practice meetings, I still have such a long way to go. And I’m not saying this to self-deprecate,” Annette adds, “I really mean it. You four are amazing.”

Dimitri leans back on the bench to think, flushing a little from the compliment. “Well,” he says, “I think debating comes down to experience. Mercedes is a third-year, so she’s been doing this for a while, and so have we back in high school. You’re going to get there soon enough if you want to, but again - ultimately, what’s most important is that you understand how you can have the most fun today.”

“I guess that makes sense, yeah. I’ll try!”

“Great,” Dimitri replies with a soft smile.

With the main crisis appearing to be over, the conversation shifts towards more technical questions about how the debates function and what practical advice Dimitri can give, and eventually, they spend ten minutes chatting about their favorite animals, about the new seasons of They-Ra on Netteflix, and when Dimitri looks at the clock tower on the other side of the town square, he startles at the realisation that they have spend over half on hour on that bench.

They head back, and enter the common room just in time to see Sylvain bent over the windowsill, with a worried expression on his face and Felix next to him, scowling. Whatever is going on outside, they just missed it.

“Bad news,” Sylvain says when Dimitri asks what happened. “Glenn is with the International Relations team. Look.”

Oh. Yes, that’s… probably bad news indeed. Yeah, there he is, entering the building together with an entire entourage of students wearing suits and ties.

“Who’s Glenn?” Ashe asks from the other side of the classroom, looking up from his book.

“My asshole brother,” Felix replies at the same time as Dimitri says,

“Long story.”

Sylvain sends Dimitri a curious glance, and Dimitri realises that this was probably not the wisest thing to say considering the fact he hasn’t told anyone about his highschool crush on Glenn. Or, for that matter, how entangled that all was with Dimitri figuring out he was trans. He’s not sure when a good time to tell everyone about it would be, but it definitely isn’t now.

So, he tries to deflect, explaining that Felix’s older brother had trained their debate team in high school and was largely responsible for their success and current abilities.

“Essentially,” Sylvain adds to Dimitri’s point, much to his relief, “his team is going to be well-prepared, probably using mean tactics, and very, very competitive. Be prepared for anything with them.”

That was good advice. Being prepared for anything was usually the way to go whenever Glenn was involved, and Dimitri thought that he was ready to face whatever would be coming his way.

Well, so he thought. As it turns out, he was not at all prepared for how much just a single conversation would mess him up.

* * *

  
  


  
  


* * *

Saturday, October 10th, 09:51

“So, speaking of names,” the student in front of him says, “I’m Claude. International Relations.” Claude mocks a bow. “Pleasure to meet you…”

“Dimitri,” Dimitri answers a little more high-pitched than he’d like to sound, so he clears his throat before continuing. “He/him.”

“Noted. And same here."

The way Claude’s green eyes keep staring at Dimitri, scanning every little detail about him, feels like an interrogation more than anything. It’s exposing in a way that Dimitri has seen plenty of times, and he crosses his arms to make sure his binder doesn’t show through the white fabric of his shirt. It shouldn’t be visible with the extra undershirt. But you never know. Dimitri never knows. He clears his throat again.

“Since you're in International Relations... are you on Glenn's team, by any chance?"

Claude's facial expression shifts into something even more unreadable. "How do you know Glenn? You said you were a first-year, right?"

"Yes, I did," Dimitri says, "but I've known Glenn before. He trained my debate team in high school, actually."

"Well, isn't that interesting," Claude replies. "He did tell us to watch out for your team, actually, but if you ask me - I think we've got a pretty good chance today."

Dimitri didn't ask, but it's good to know that Sylvain was right about how competitive everyone would be, and that was the one thing about Glenn that he didn’t like. "A good teacher is rarely enough," he says. "Most of the work is up to the students. So perhaps it is too early for you to celebrate."

Claude laughs. It sounds fake. "Well said. But don't worry, we're not partying yet, just making estimates."

Despite Claude's smile, Dimitri can't shake the impression that there is coldness and anger hiding behind it. Maybe it's the way his eyebrows are always slightly raised, the way his lips curl into a closed parenthesis, the way he's tapping his fingers on his crossed arms, the way every sharp word of his seems to veil a secret only he knows, or maybe it's something else entirely that Dimitri just can't quite figure out yet. But all that feels like after not even two minutes of conversation, Claude has decided that he doesn't like Dimitri. At least the feeling is mutual, Dimitri thinks and feels the corners of his mouth curling upwards in the same icy manner as Claude’s.

“You might be surprised, Claude, but I actually wasn't worried about that at all. I'll leave the worrying about your own team in your capable hands."

Claude laughs again, and the echo of that laughter bounces off the stone walls surrounding them. “Very well, Dimitri.” He claps Dimitri’s shoulder with what is just a smidge too much force. When he continues, his voice is soaked to the brim with sarcastic courtesy. “I look forward to beating you later today. But right now, I actually have to go and cheer on Glenn and Holst."

Dimitri opens his mouth to answer, but Claude, already walking away, cuts him off.

“I'll tell Glenn you said hi," he says over his shoulder.

Dimitri sighs as Claude turns a corner and leaves him alone in the Great Hall. As he sets off towards the common room, he notices his heart is racing, and he takes a few deep breaths. He never did get used to talking to people he dislikes. But at least it's over and he can put this whole unpleasant ordeal behind him. The sooner, the better.

And then, his brain slaps him in the face.

Isn’t he a hypocrite for disliking Claude without any apparent reason, but judging him for doing the same?

Dimitri stops abruptly, then resumes his walk with a frown. Because yeah, that is pretty much what happened. He assumed that Claude didn't like him, even judged him for coming to a decision so quickly, and then did the exact same baseless thing he just condemned.

But maybe he does have a reason after all. A reason besides a vague hunch that Claude didn’t like him. And to be fair, he already felt some sort of stinging in his chest even before he paid attention to Claude’s actions, so there probably is something else. He just doesn’t know what.

The stinging feeling… what is that feeling, actually?

As he walks up the stairs and down a corridor bustling with students, Dimitri tries to figure out why he’s feeling so upset. He’s not jealous, is he? He has nothing to be jealous about. Sure, Claude was rude, probably, maybe, if Dimitri read the situation correctly, but Dimitri has interacted with rude people plenty of times without feeling this shaken.

He sits down on a couch in the common room. Maybe it’s because of Glenn? Maybe he’s not over Glenn and jealous about him being with the other team?

That’s an absurd theory to be sure, but still, he can’t dismiss it. Whatever this confusing feeling is, he can’t quite separate it from Glenn - there’s just something that hits way too close to home. 

Dimitri frowns, and tries to think back to high school and reconstruct the whole story. This was over seven years ago and his first puberty had already started because of course he figured out he was trans so, so much later than he would have liked. And then he hesitated for several extra months before even telling anyone, and then he lost another half a year to doctors’ waiting lists and prescriptions and figuring out the right dosage and every time he saw himself, it made everything worse to the point where he taped cardboard over the built-in mirror in his dresser.

Actually, Dimitri decides, he doesn’t want to think about this after all. He’s probably overthinking it, especially since pretty much every aspect of his conversation with Claude is down to interpretation. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding, and the disdain is one-sided. And in that case Dimitri should give Claude the benefit of the doubt, or at least try to. It's the least he can do if he doesn't want to be a hypocrite. And the best way to do that is to debate against him in an hour.

If Claude actually shows up, reason whispers in Dimitri’s ear, but he dismisses it. It’s not just about Claude, after all. Maybe Dimitri wants to see Glenn’s new team himself. That’s also a good reason. 

He just hopes it’s good enough.

* * *

Saturday, October 10th, 10:15

Unfortunately, Dimitri hadn’t realised that this match is scheduled in half an hour. And that in half an hour, he's supposed to be up against the Philosophy department together with Ingrid. Luckily, Mercedes volunteers to change places, which leaves him and Felix. The two of them get even more lucky when a tired professor notifies them about . Perfect. Dimitri isn't as good with spontaneity as he is with planning ahead, their assigned topic is actually pretty interesting: they're supposed to defend bartering over money. The ten minutes of preparation are both tense and exciting.

Felix frowns at Dimitri's proposed argument. "You're leaving yourself wide open when you claim that money as a social construct has no inherent value."

"I know," Dimitri sighs. " But do you have a better idea for our main argument?"

"Maybe... hm."

"So you see the problem," Dimitri says.

Felix rolls his eyes.

"Maybe..." Dimitri says slowly, echoing Felix, "Maybe we can point towards the current economic issues? Prices are rising faster than people's wages, but you probably don't have to worry about inflation in a goods-based economy."

Felix snorts, but makes some notes. "Sure."

Once they're done with gathering their arguments and lining them up in order of importance, the last minutes are spent in anxious silence. After a while of awkward shuffling on the couch, Felix breaks it.

"So why are you so keen on debating against Glenn and his team? You don’t ever switch assigned matches like that." He gives Dimitri a suspicious glance through narrowed eyes. "Ever."

Dimitri looks up from his notes with more of a start than he'd like to admit, pretending he didn't make out what Felix said. "Hm?"

It's a poor excuse, and the two of them know it. "We'll talk later, then," Felix says with a sigh and gets up. "For now, let's crush them." 

And unfortunately, this is where Dimitri’s luck ends.

* * *

Saturday, October 10th, 10:45

When they enter the classroom next-door, Dimitri realises two things. One - Claude stayed true to his word about participating. Two - his partner is not Glenn.

Well, to be fair, Claude never even implied that Glenn would take part - but Dimitri did expect it, and so seeing Glenn at the back of the classroom sends an unpleasant jolt through Dimitri. Glenn would have been familiar territory. Instead, it's two complete wild cards - Claude and a small, white-haired student with their hair tied back in a ponytail.. But in this case, Dimitri really doesn't have anyone else to blame for his error but himself.

Hm. If he already misinterpreted that part about what Claude said, it's really likely that he also misinterpreted the rest of the situation. He should give Claude the benefit of the doubt.

Dimitri doesn't get distracted by that familiar, teasing expression on Glenn's face, and he definitely doesn't bump his knees against the desk when he sits down. He could have sworn there’s a trace of Glenn's smirk in Claude's confident smile, too. 

"Focus," Felix whispers next to him, accompanying his message with a somewhat light kick under the table. Dimitri nods hastily and pulls up his notes, reading through them one last time. The jury comes in, introduces the rules, the participants - Lysithea and Claude and, well, Felix and Dimitri - and, lastly, the topic.

Dimitri is the first speaker, and he now has three minutes to explain why bartering would be much better than money. He takes a deep breath and stands, trying to ignore Glenn's and Claude's eyes on him. Then, he begins.

"The phrase 'modern problems require modern solutions' is very common nowadays. But is it really true? Are modern solutions inherently better? I am not convinced that this is the case. On the contrary," he pauses for a moment, "some old solutions have been proven to be consistently successful. And thus, we would like to propose a return to bartering as opposed to monetary exchanges."

And so on. It's extremely unrealistic, of course - there is absolutely no way that the proposed reform will actually happen, but these debates are rarely about realism. Truth be told, that's part of why Dimitri loves them so much. 

After all, where else can you seriously suggest that rent be paid in chocolate, should the landlord agree to it? 

When Dimitri voices this idea, Felix's face contorts into a disgusted grimace - Lysithea, on the other hand, looks downright excited for a short second, then incredibly conflicted. Dimitri just barely stifles a smile and delivers the rest of his opening speech with an extra dose of passion, finishing exactly five seconds before his time runs out with the polite statement that he "shall look forward to hearing the opposing team's thoughts on this issue".

He sits back down with a proud smile.This went really well. Felix gives him a nod of approval.

Then, Claude slowly stands, straightening his jacket with disgusting confidence and, dare Dimitri think it, hubris.

"Now," Claude begins, taking his time as if the judges' stopwatches couldn't bother him any less. "Those were exceptional points made by my fellow students on the other side of the room. However, the speech delivered just now leaves me with several questions, and I hope you will be able to provide me with some answers."

There's his smirk again, showing his teeth in what looks like a mix of courtesy and intimidation. Dimitri clicks his ballpoint pen a few times as he waits for Claude to continue. 

"Let us take the downright enlightening scenario of your landlord asking to be paid in chocolate." Next to Claude, Lysithea hastily begins to scribble on her notepad. "Does that mean your wage would also be paid in chocolate, instead of another good of your preference? Or, if you get paid in something else, like clothing or cars - who determines the exchange rate?"

At the back of the classroom, Glenn crosses his arms and leans back in his chair before grinning and mouthing something unintelligible towards Felix and Dimitri. Dimitri doesn't understand it, but judging by Felix's barely-stifled hiss, he does. So either a taunt or an insult - probably both.

And just like that, thanks to Glenn's well-timed distraction, Dimitri manages to miss at least 10 seconds of Claude's speech. Whatever he missed, it was probably infuriatingly on-point and delivered in the same condescending tone as everything that came before. Oh well. At least all Claude seems to be doing is shooting down their idea and not bringing up any points of his own.

"We certainly acknowledge the flaws within our current monetary system. There can be no doubt that, at times, it is quite impractical and only serves to strengthen the current divides among not only our local society, but also on a global scale. Bartering, however, does not represent a good solution at all." 

Claude smiles widely at Dimitri. His eyes don't smile along, and if Dimitri reads his straightened posture correctly, he's preparing a deadly strike. Next to Dimitri, Felix is audibly shifting in his seat, getting ready to stand his ground against whatever is about to come.

"And that is why as an alternative, we would like to propose a unified currency that is the same for all the states. Not only would that solve problems related to conversion rates, it would also send a message about the importance of unity in today's so fragmented and disconnected world."

Dimitri pauses in his notetaking and looks over at Claude, incredulous. Claude's proposition is absurd. This is absurd. If Dimitri were in Claude's position right now, he would have proposed something that makes it easy for his teammates to find arguments for instead of soloing it on a gambit like this one. Does... he not realise how important teamwork is to this?

Sure, Dimitri's proposition wasn't any more realistic, but him and Felix had an opportunity to talk this over in advance and agree on this! Claude and Lysithea definitely didn't - they didn't even know the topic, and so forcing Lysithea into an even more stressful situation where she has to come up with convincing supporting arguments is... well, it's simply irresponsible.

Claude finishes with twenty seconds still on the clock and a confident sneer on his face. When he sits down, he crosses his legs and twirls a pencil in his hand like he's waiting for Felix to entertain him. The uncertainty about Claude's character slowly turns into annoyance inside Dimitri's stomach . He really wasn't wrong about Claude's arrogance, and for some reason, that stings even more - even though he was willing to give Claude the benefit of the doubt, all that effort was for nothing. Dimitri was right, and he’s not sure whether he’s more disappointed in himself or in Claude.

Felix's speech is to the point as always. He points out flaws in Claude's proposition, compares them the strengths of their own position, and-

"I'll interrupt you right here," Claude says. "I object to the Law team's statement that our solution is totalitarian in nature, especially considering that your proposed abolishment of currency is not any less totalitarian. Do you have a response to that?"

Felix, by the looks of it, is seething, having to waste some of his remaining 40 seconds on Claude's antics. "Thank you for your question," he grits out, glaring daggers. "Our position is not concerned with the execution of the idea, but rather its principles and innate advantages."

Claude interrupts again. "In that case, it is quite hypocritical of you to criticise the execution of our idea, is it not?" He raises his hands before sitting down. "I will stop interrupting you now, but in my opinion, it was a necessary correction."

In Dimitri's opinion, Claude is the absolute last person who should be talking about hypocrisy right now, and he is sorely tempted to interrupt Felix himself just to argue against Claude. But Dimitri forces himself to take a deep breath and not make Felix, who hates getting interrupted more than anything else, even angrier. Dimitri still remembers how, sometimes, Glenn would tease Felix, interrupting him until Felix almost cried from frustration and - oh, the audacity. How could he? No - it’s not just Glenn, it’s Claude, too. How could they?

One look towards the back of the classroom and Glenn's hunched-over form, shaking with silent laughter, confirms Dimitri's suspicions. So Glenn didn't just advise - he gave his team personal information. This punch below the belt is bad enough on its own, but if Dimitri thought he couldn't be any more disappointed and angry at Claude, oh, he was mistaken. It’s one thing to have a leader like Glenn on your team and another to consciously include his manipulative advice in your strategy. Dimitri truly, truly regrets being his team's first speaker now - coming right after Lysithea, he will have no choice but to focus on her points instead of taking on Claude directly. 

Speaking of which, he should be paying attention to what she's saying. Felix has finished by now and sat down again. Lysithea's points are nowhere near as ludicrous as Claude's - they're reasonable, spoken in a calm and rational tone, and surprisingly enough, she has actually found some good arguments in favour of Claude's proposition in the short time she was given, despite all the chaotic back-and-forth interruptions.

Hm. Maybe Claude had another goal in mind beyond provoking Felix. He seems to be a really tactical player, so Dimitri really wouldn't put it past him to use his initial plan to also stall for time like this. At least that's commendable, if nothing else. The least Claude could have done.

But anyway. He should stop obsessing over Claude all the time and start actually paying attention to what Lysithea is saying if he wants his team to have any chance at all.

Unfortunately, that's easier said than done, somehow. Claude is out for blood, because while he does stay true to his word and stops interrupting, every argument of his is specifically designed to undermine everything Dimitri says. On its own, this constant back-and-forth isn't special, it's nothing new when it comes to competitive debating, but somehow, every single argument of Claude's goes beyond mere refutals. They feel personal, delivered with more vigor than necessary and slowly, Dimitri's blood begins to boil. No matter what he does, from what angle he approaches the debate, Claude is prepared for it and stands his ground, not moving an inch.

As they near the closing speeches with only one round of arguments left, Dimitri gets desperate. He shouldn't focus this much on Claude and Glenn, whose faces are both lit up with glee, but in the end, he can't help it, and that is why, when Claude begins to his speech with yet another counter-argument to what Dimitri just said, he takes a deep breath and stands up.

"I would like to interrupt the team from the International Relations department," he says quietly, and when the judge nods, he continues. Just for a moment, he sees surprise flash on Claude's face, and that spurs him on. Good. If Claude thinks he has them all figured out, well, Dimitri is going to prove him wrong. "So far, we have mainly focused on the ideological and political aspects, and given the topic, this is quite surprising. Therefore, I would like to draw everyone's attention to one crucial, economical advantage of bartering over actual currencies: it eliminates inflation and deflation. I would be very interested to hear the other team's thoughts on that matter."

Next to him, Felix audibly exhales, and as Dimitri sits back down, he realises just how bad of a move this was. What was he thinking, bringing up new points now, just a few moments before the closing speeches? It might have worked at the start of the debates, but Dimitri's timing was nothing if not a huge favor to IR. He glances over at Glenn and his shoulders sink even more when he recognises the disappointed look on Glenn's face. Dimitri should have known better.

Of couse, Claude doesn't waste a second. 

"You're right," he says. "We have indeed neglected the specifics of economical advantages. However, I would not in the slightest agree with you when you say that bartering eliminates inflation. On the contrary - with the arbitrary nature of your pricing, it is more than likely that some goods will be unreasonably valued higher than others."

Claude could have left it at that and mercifully moved on, going back to his original points. Instead, he spends his entire two minutes tearing Dimitri's argument apart, almost going over his allotted time. When Claude sits down, the weight of Dimitri’s mistake seemingly doubles, and Felix stands up with a sigh. He's got a lot of work ahead of him, and Dimitri just made it even harder. Glenn, on the other hand, looks downright bored and disappointed, and that feels like the final nail in the coffin. 

As Felix finishes his speech and Lysithea starts hers, Dimitri jots down some thoughts to structure his closing statement. That's his last chance to turn everything around - but with how solid the IR team's arguments were, and how absolutely powerless his own team was against them, he doesn't have a good feeling about the whole thing.

His gut proves to be right. The judges award Claude and Lysithea with an 8.9, while he and Felix barely make it up to a 6.2. They’re not even remotely close. Usually, Glenn had told them years ago, judges settle on the score for the winning team first and then just subtract 1.5 from the score (unless both teams were equally good, in which case it's usually closer). That they got 2.7 less than IR today means that they did an absolutely horrible job. It's not just that IR was better - it was their fault. No, it was Dimitri's fault. He tries to keep his face even, but ultimately... Glenn was right to be disappointed in him. 

For a moment, he looks up, only to see Claude and Lysithea going over to the back of the classroom and getting a fistbump from Glenn. A _fistbump_. Glenn never, ever, ever offers gestures like that unless he's deliberately impressed, and the fact that Claude, Claude of all people, managed to get there...

Dimitri picks up his notes and leaves the classroom. 

Felix follows him, infuriated.

"What the hell, Dimitri?" he says. "Seriously. What the actual, entire fuck was all that about?"

Dimitri opens his mouth to defend himself, then closes it again and sighs. "I don't know."

Felix scoffs and doesn't reply. They walk back to the common room.

At the door, Dimitri tries again. "They were... unfair. I'm sure that the only reason Claude interrupted you twice was to make you angry."

"No shit," Felix says. "Great work figuring that out. But it doesn't mean you had to start interrupting him back." The couch creaks underneath Felix's weight as he drops down and pulls out his phone. He glances up for one moment, scowling. "That was a bad move."

Dimitri sits down on a chair, deciding to give Felix some space. "Yes. Maybe. Probably." He sighs. "It was."

"It really was," Felix mutters. "Admit it and do better next time. We've got a fuckton of catching up to do, in case you haven't noticed."

* * *

Saturday, October 10th, 15:43

And so, Dimitri tries. He does. He participates in two more debates - one with Dedue against the Biology department, and one with Mercedes against English majors - and they do score high and even if it shouldn't be, isn't about winning... well, who is Dimitri to deny that getting good results feels nice? Just so long as he doesn't focus on them too much, he should be fine.

As the day draws to a close, Dimitri finds himself in front of the digital scoreboard in the entrance hall, back where he first talked to Claude almost six hours ago. It feels like a lot more time has passed than just six hours and Dimitri is both tired and exhilarated. He missed debating a lot.

Slowly, everyone gathers around the board. In the crowd, Dimitri spots Ingrid and moves over to stand next to her.

"How did it go?" 

"Hm? Oh, good." Ingrid turns towards him with an ecstatic grin. "Sylvain and Annette absolutely trashed the History people."

Right on cue, the numbers behind their two teams change. Theirs is now an 82.3, History down to 77.6. That looks...

Hold on. Dimitri checks the leaderboard again. His heart begins to beat faster. "Are... are we in first place?"

"...yeah," Ingrid says slowly. "I think we are." Slowly, an incredulous smile breaks out on Ingrid's face. "Oh my god, that's amazing. On our first day, too, can you imagine?

Dimitri checks the list of teams still debating. Physics and International Relations, and that's it - and Physics definitely doesn't pose a threat to them right now. Ingrid grins.

"As long as IR doesn't score too high, we're good!"

A spark of hope blossoms inside Dimitri. He tries to extinguish it, telling himself again and again that winning is not the point, but he finds himself joining Ingrid's enthusiasm, and when Sylvain and Annette join them, they all start chanting "First place, please! First place, please!" under their breath. All the other scores have already been updated. It can only be a matter of minutes, a matter of moments and seconds now, and it would be such fantastic poetic justice to have the results about their victory declared here, in the very same hall where Claude mocked him earlier.

Come on. He stares at the display ahead. Come on, come on, come on. Yes, he made that one mistake in the debate against IR, but he made sure to work hard afterwards. And if they win, it will be an honest victory, not one by underhanded tactics, and they _deserve_ to win. _He_ deserves to show Claude- Glenn - both of them what he's capable of. Just once, just this once, Dimitri will be competitive and hope for a victory.

Seconds tick past them. Dimitri keeps checking his watch.

The scores update one last time, giving IR an 85.0, and the names shift on the scoreboard. Next to Dimitri, a pink-haired student erupts in a loud cheer and is joined by several others. Dimitri’s heart sinks, weighed down by disappointment, and that’s when he realises.

Claude's team came first, yes, they won, and that alone is bitter enough.

But they won by 2.7 points. _Exactly_ 2.7 points.

Had it not been for Dimitri’s mistake earlier, this wouldn't have happened. It's all his fault, he cost them their victory. And as his teammates start to congratulate each other on their awesome performance ("Second place is still so good!" Annette shouts), Dimitri just feels dread and determination rise up in him. It won't happen again. He will make sure it doesn't. And next time, come what may, he is going to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [Prompt's tweet](https://twitter.com/rainglazedpaint/status/1359514793728749570?s=20) with the wonderful art for today! Even if it is the same motif as last week's... I think the differences also match up really well with how different Dimitri and Claude experience their first meeting.  
> Yeah, it took those two 15k to even MEET for the first time. Feel free to bet in the comments of how much more I can fit in before their next meeting - or just tell me what you particularly enjoyed, I always love hearing your thoughts! <3
> 
> RT the fic [here](https://twitter.com/MiladyKora/status/1351439253822201856?s=20).


	5. November - Dimitri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in a while, Dimitri begins to struggle again, sinking deeper and deeper into exhaustion and powerlessness. His friends and family do their best to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for mental health issues - specifically, depression and anxiety, and resulting symptoms such as low self-esteem or unhealthy eating habits.

Thursday, November 5th, 19:47

The rest of October goes by surprisingly fast, the bitter memory of Dimitri's defeat fading more and more with each short day. A few days after the competition, Dimitri gets a surprising invitation to Ashe's birthday party. What he expected to be a loud student party with alcohol and music turns out to be just a handful of people eating chocolate cake, playing beer pong with Riot Coke and talking about their favourite books. It's nice. It's really, really nice. And yet, for some reason, Dimitri finds himself terribly exhausted when he returns home. He has university work to do, but instead, he spends almost half an hour staring at the ceiling doing nothing, waiting for the lead in his bones to disappear.

He feels better the next day. Well, sort of. Only during the morning. Because the longer the day goes on, the heavier his body feels, and this continues the day after, and the day after that and so on and so on until even commuting to university and back becomes a struggle. Briefly, he wonders if his period is coming back, despite the HRT. After a week, he comes to the conclusion that it isn't. He wonders if maybe he caught the flu despite the vaccine, but time disproves this theory, too. Coursework is a drag. He can hardly even pay attention during the lectures, let alone take notes. The debate committee meetings are less exhausting, but that’s just the routine from high school.

One week into November, and Dimitri still feels awful without knowing why. At least he still manages to submit all his assignments, but even then, that comes at the expense of dinners with Sylvain, Ingrid and Felix. Or dinners in general. Probably at the expense of his grades, too, because whatever he submits can’t be worth much. Maybe he’ll be part of those 50% who drop out after just one semester, he thinks, and the dread brought on by those thoughts just paralyses him even more.

He hasn’t called his family or met up with Edelgard in over a week, citing upcoming exams he needs to study for, but it feels like a lie. It is a lie. He does have exams, of course, but - with how little he has been doing to prepare for them, he would have definitely had enough to call. And he didn’t.

His room is a complete and utter mess, too, clothes piling up on his chair, so whenever he wants to get some work done, he needs to dump the small mountain of fabric on the floor, first. Except there’s no room on the floor, either, so they land on his unmade bed instead. Dimitri’s pretty sure that right now, he’s lying on top of several pairs of socks and underwear. He should probably get up, he thinks, and stop lazing about. But… he just can’t. His limbs have stopped listening to his mental pleas the same way a broken, burnt-out light bulb doesn’t react to a flicked switch.

It’s 8 pm already, and he still hasn't done the readings for tomorrow. His room is dark, save for a single lamp burning at his desk. Dimitri feels cold, but the blanket underneath him feels too heavy to pick up and crawl under.

The clock on the wall is slowly ticking. Every once in a while, Dimitri blinks.

Then, someone bangs on his door. "Dimitri?"

Ingrid.

"We saved you dinner! Come on out."

Oh. He missed dinner, again. He had decided to skip to focus on his coursework, and then didn’t accomplish anything. Dimitri swallows. "I... will be with you in ten minutes."

No, he won't.

"No, you won't," Ingrid says through the door. "Can I come in?"

“Wait.” Dimitri takes a deep breath before forcing himself to speak again. “One moment. Please.”

“Okay.”

He should at least open the door himself. It’s open, of course, but- well. He can’t just keep lying down on the bed when someone comes in.

It takes a lot of effort, almost too much for him to stand up and walk over to the door. The realisation that he should have taken at least a few moments to tidy up hits as soon as he turns the doorknob. Shame and embarrassment take his words away when Ingrid enters.

"You,” Ingrid says after giving him a careful once-over, “look horrible."

"Thank you," he replies, consciously working on every syllable to make sure it gets said. Was thank you the appropriate response? He doesn’t care.

"Anything I can do to help?"

Dimitri almost laughs in response. Help? How is Ingrid supposed to help with this? Dimitri is an adult, a college student, he’ll turn twenty next month, but instead of being mature and independent like he should be, doing laundry has proven to be too much for him. At this point, if he keeps relying on others to manage his life, he’ll never learn. So no, unless “learning responsibility in his stead” is an option - which it isn’t - Ingrid can’t help him with this.

Ingrid sighs. “Okay. I think we need to talk. Is it okay if Felix and Sylvain come over, too?”

All the lead drains from Dimitri’s body, leaving nothing but fear in its wake. This… this sounds bad. No, it’s definitely bad. Dimitri’s mind rewinds the past few weeks, and oh, he’s just been selfish to no end, hasn’t he? He barely spent any time with his friends at all. He should have.

Well. Hopefully friends. Maybe friends. Probably not his friends for long, with how he essentially pushed them away, and he’ll have no one to blame but himself.

“Alright,” Dimitri says, voice quiet. There’s nothing he can do about it now. It’s too late. Might as well get it over with.

Ingrid nods. “I'll be back in two minutes."

Dimitri realises he’s just been standing in the doorway this whole time, just staring into space, so he goes to sit back down on the bed. The heaviness in his limbs returns, but now, it seems to have found enough room to coexist with his anxiety. It’s all so terribly overwhelming to the point where Dimitri can't even figure out whether gravity wants him to fall forward or sink into the mattress. He ends up swaying on the spot as he waits for two extra people to see this trash heap and judge him for it.

When Sylvain walks in, he almost recoils at the mess. For the sake of politeness, Dimitri pretends not to see it, but Sylvain has every right to be disgusted by the state of his room. Heck, for what it’s worth, Dimitri is disgusted by it, and he’s just as much disgusted by the fact that he simply allowed this all to accumulate.

Felix, meanwhile, takes the pile of clothes from Dimitri’s chair, unceremoniously drops it on the floor, then sits down on top of the pile. For that, he receives a quiet “thank you” from Sylvain, who takes the now-free chair, and a sigh from Ingrid. She settles for the bed, too, keeping a small distance from Dimitri. He can’t tell whether this is because she’s angry at him, or because she doesn’t want to invade his personal space. He hopes it’s the latter.

"Alright, enough of this nonsense," Felix says. "Stop hiding from us."

“I’m not-” Dimitri starts, speaking slowly, then sighs. “I am. I’m sorry, Felix. Everyone. You deserve better.”

Sylvain frowns. "We’re not angry at you.” After a short pause, he adds, “We’re not disappointed, either. Just... worried. You're a mess, you barely come out of your room anymore, and...” He sighs. “I keep thinking that I must have done something wrong for you to start avoiding me, you know?”

“Wait, why?” Dimitri looks up at Sylvain in shock. “Why do you think so?”

“I know that…” Sylvain presses his lips together. “I used to hide in my room a lot as a kid. And as a teenager. The rest of our house just wasn’t safe for me, so… well. If you want to have a conversation about it, please tell me what I did wrong, because I really don’t know. And I’m truly, truly sorry for that, Dimitri. I want to do better than that.”

Dimitri’s stomach turns into a pit of ice. This is the absolute worst thing he could have done, even worse than making his friends mad at him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “I tried to tell Sylvain it isn’t, but he said he’d rather take your word for it, not mine.” He frowns. “I’d like to know what’s going on, though, too.”

Dimitri nods, then falls silent again. Speaking is exhausting, even thinking is. When Ingrid extends her arm in an invitation to lean in, he accepts, allowing her to pull him close, and oh, he missed her hugs and cuddles so much.

"Please tell us what's wrong,” she says. “Did something happen?"

He shakes his head. It comes out stilted against Ingrid's shoulder. "No." He pauses, trying to find the words and the energy to keep talking. "I've just... I have just been so tired, and as of now, I can't find a single reason why. It's just there, present, and I'm helpless against it."

“It?” Ingrid asks.

“There’s all this additional weight.” Dimitri swallows. “Every single movement is more difficult. Even talking.”

“Oh,” Sylvain says before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Okay,” he says. “I know that feeling. Is that all, or… are you feeling something else?”

That’s a good question, actually. For all this time, Dimitri had barely stopped to even consider what he might be feeling, but now that he takes a closer look-

“I don’t think I feel anything at all.” 

Saying that out loud is already terrifying, but when he notices Sylvain pressing his lips together and looking down, the anxiety inside Dimitri grows even larger.

"No, it’s just.. that sounds an awful lot like depression to me. Trust me, I would know," Sylvain says, letting out a bitter chuckle. “Shit, man, I’m sorry you’re going through this.”

“I just need to get my life together,” Dimitri says. His nose stings. “I’m fine. I’m not feeling sad or anything of that nature, I’m just tired.”

Felix barks out a laugh. "Of the many things that you are, 'fine' is decidedly not among them.”

When Ingrid notices Dimitri biting his nails, she carefully takes his hands in hers. “Don’t, please. If you want chewing gum, here. I have some.” Dimitri nods and accepts. They’ve been doing this since they were teenagers. "You know that it's okay to struggle, right?" Ingrid continues. "Maybe it’s not depression, I mean, I certainly hope it isn’t. But regardless, if you’re tired, please just ask us for help, we’ll be happy to.”

"Yes," Dimitri says on a sharp exhale, "but I can't. Ask you for it, that is. I should be able to do this on my own."

"You absolutely should not," Felix replies.

"Don't patronise," Sylvain says.

Felix shakes his head, annoyed. "I'm not. That's not what I meant." He pauses, snapping his fingers as he looks for the right words. "Look," he finally says with a sigh, "I know I'm not the best person to talk about this. But human beings are... we are not meant to do everything on our own. If you need help, ask. Don’t wallow in self-pity all on your own."

Sylvain chuckles. “Yeah, get us to wallow together with you in your depression. I’m great at that.” He looks over at Dimitri. “Really, I mean it. Sometimes it helps just to know you’re not alone.”

Yes. Maybe. If only Dimitri actually had the energy to form a coherent thought.

“Okay,” Ingrid says. “How about you eat dinner while we clean your room, and then afterwards, you’ll call your parents and talk to them? Does that sound alright with you?”

“You don’t have to,” Dimitri mutters.

“I’ll go get the food,” Felix says.

Ingrid nods. “Good. I’ll tidy… Sylvain, take over, please?”

“Sure.” Sylvain gets up and swaps places with Ingrid, wrapping an arm around Dimitri’s shoulder, and it feels nice. Comforting.

Ingrid, meanwhile, walks to the middle of the room, puts her hands on her hips and surveys the complete and utter chaos Dimitri has created. Then, she methodically opens each cupboard and drawer and dresser once to figure out where everything needs to go.

“I don’t know if hearing this helps,” Sylvain says, “but you’re not a burden. We’re helping you because we want to, because you’re our friend.”

Dimitri hums a non-committal response. Talking even more right now feels daunting.

“Trust me, I know all those thoughts, and I’ve been working through them in therapy. And whether you actually have depression or not, look. You moved out of your parents’ home. The university is absolutely huge. Heck, you’re studying _Law_ \- and except for us and maybe the team, you barely even know anyone. It’s completely normal to feel overwhelmed.”

The laundry basket is more than full at this point, but Ingrid just presses all the clothing down until there’s room for more.

“When’s the last time you had your vitamin D checked?” Sylvain asks next. “Depression and that kind of stuff usually has a physical component, too - and hey, that means it can be treated. The wonders of modern medicine, right?”

Luckily, Dimitri doesn't have to search his brain for answers - Felix comes back with some stew, carefully holding the hot bowl through his pulled-up sweater sleeves, and sets it down on the chair before pushing it towards Dimitri.

“Eat,” he says, then joins Ingrid in her quest.

Dimitri hesitantly reaches for the spoon. “Who cooked?” he asks, and Sylvain beams proudly. So it’s edible, at least. Dimitri tries it and instantly retracts his statement because it’s actually really, really good. He eats some more. The excitement on Sylvain’s face is contagious and to the degree that he can right now, Dimitri smiles back.

“You’re going to be okay,” Ingrid says, currently sorting the pile of clothes by how urgently they need to be washed. “Maybe not immediately, because things like that take time. But until you are, we’re going to stay by your side, and so is your family.”

“And afterwards, too,” Sylvain adds.

Dimitri has to swallow back some tears together with the next spoonful of stew. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what he did to deserve all this kindness. But at the very least, it’s good to know he can still feel something.

And he’s going to call his mom after dinner.

* * *

Saturday, November 14th, 10:36

“Oh, I am _so_ glad to see you!” Dimitri is pulled into a crushing hug. “I missed you so much!”

“Mom,” Dimitri croaks, even as he returns the hug, “air.”

Lori Talbot-Blaiddyd freezes for a second, then eases up a little. “Oh, right.” She presses a kiss onto Dimitri’s forehead, his cheeks, his nose. Her light-brown hair tickles against Dimitri’s face. “It’s just the excitement. You didn't call for almost two weeks and I was already getting worried, so when you said you weren’t feeling too great, I just-” his mom sniffles through her smile, “Well, I just knew I had to come and see you. Thank you for inviting me over.”

His mother has always been a waterfall of words and emotions. Dimitri smiles softly. “Thank you for making time for me,” he replies. “I’m glad you’re here, too.”

“Of course!” Lori squeezes Dimitri one last time, then lets go and turns towards the dorms. “I will always make time for my favourite son.”

“Last time I recall, you only had one son,” Dimitri says.

HIs mom just nods resolutely. “And that’s exactly why you’re my favourite.” She taps his nose playfully. “I haven’t even seen your room yet, that’s the first thing you need to show me, and then I absolutely need to see Sylvain and Ingrid and Felix. I brought cake and ginger cookies. So that’s number two on my list. Oh, and then we can go to a café in town. My treat, of course.”

Dimitri nods. Thanks to Sylvain’s help, his room has stayed tidy and a space he enjoys living in, though he still feels a bit unsure about accepting everyone’s help, especially since he ended up ditching this month’s debate just to see his mom. Today was the soonest Lori could drive over with all her work, and ultimately, Dimitri decided another week would not be worth the wait.

“I missed you,” he says quietly, then smiles. “The others won’t be here for a few hours yet, so the café does sound like a really nice idea. I have one mind”

“Alright.” Lori ruffles his hair, then takes his hand. “Lead the way!”

The café is about half an hour away. As Lori drives them there and begins to look for a parking spot, Dimitri updates her on everything else - how his friends have been, how studying has been going, how weird it was to see Glenn on the opposing team - but it is only after they find a table and order their food, and after a comfortable silence settles on the two of them, that Dimitri finds it in him to talk not just about what happened, but about how he feels.

Lori nods, listening to him as she stirs some sugar into her coffee. When he’s finished, she stretches out her hand over the table.

“That sounds exhausting,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

Dimitri takes her hand and squeezes it. “It is. Half of the time, I don’t even feel like I’m in control of my body anymore. I have to force myself to do everything. On bad days, doing stuff on autopilot doesn’t work anymore.”

Lori’s hands are still cool to the touch, just as they were all those years ago when she’d use them to wipe away his tears, or cover his eyes whenever the outside world got too bright. Back in kindergarten, when the teacher asked Dimitri who his best friend was, he’d just point to his mother.

If only they could return to that, Dimitri thinks as he looks outside the glass front and notices kids playing in the rain. Their bright yellow raincoats and rubber boots are the only specks of colour compared to the grey and brown tone of everything else. Dimitri sighs.

“I wish I could be a kid again. Everything seemed so much easier back then. Nothing to worry about, I could just… I don’t know. Have fun. Enjoy life.”

“Oh, Dimitri.” Lori shakes her head and takes a sip of her coffee. “You were miserable as a child.”

Dimitri looks up, brow furrowed. “I was? I… don’t remember that at all.” 

“Absolutely. You were anything but happy. You hated meeting new people. When you did, you were incredibly shy, and almost every day after kindergarten, you’d come home crying and you couldn’t even explain why.” Lori taps her chin in thought. “In a way, you and Felix were very similar.”

Some dishes clatter at the back of the café. Dimitri winces, and Lori sends an apologetic smile his way. Her thumb gently strokes over his knuckles, and Dimitri thinks back to how, when he was little, he’d always come to his mother with nightmares. And she’d sing to him, and hold his hand, and he’d always feel better afterwards. Maybe she’s right about him not being a very happy kid.

“And honestly…” Lori continues, voice trailing off. “Sometimes I wish I could be a child again, too. Growing up takes a lot away from you, the playfulness, the easy joy, not having to do taxes or worry about the people you love, but then- I remember that I would have never met Lambert or had you if I hadn’t grown up. And those two things alone are so worth it.”

Dimitri looks down at the table, outside the window, at his tea, and tries not to let the awkwardness show up on his face. “Thank you,” he mutters quietly. When he looks at his mother, he notices wrinkles around her eyes, a sign of both her growing age and her ever-radiant smiles. “But then... why do I feel like I used to be happier as a child?”

Lori takes a while to think. “I don’t know,” she finally says. “Humans are complicated. Maybe it’s because when you’re struggling, it feels like there’s no end to it. So the beginning feels just as far away, too. Maybe it’s just easier to dream of a light childhood. I don’t know.” She looks at Dimitri. “Does it matter?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. I keep wondering whether I should have realised I was trans earlier, or whether transitioning was the right thing to do, and- and I know this is just my mind playing tricks on me and it’s not really true, but it’s still hard sometimes.” 

Dimitri swallows. He usually doesn’t talk about any of this, too worried that people will get the impression he’s regretting his decisions or uncertain about who he is. His mother is one of the few people who understands, or at least tries to. 

“Is this why you’ve been feeling down these past few weeks?” Lori asks.

Dimitri shakes his head. “No, the lack of energy is new.” His hand tenses. “I wish I could just get to a point where for once, everything feels alright.”

“I’m certain you will.” Lori brushes a stray lock of hair from Dimitri’s forehead. “No, I have no doubts about it. Look at how much you’ve achieved already. You came out, transitioned, graduated high school, and now you’re studying at one of the best universities in the country.” When she smiles, Dimitri finds himself wondering, not for the first time, how a single person can radiate so much kindness. “I’m so, so proud of you. Me and your father both.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles quietly. His cheeks feel warm. He never knows what to do with compliments.

Lori pats his hand. “One more emotional thing, then we’re through with this.” Dimitri smiles awkwardly, then chuckles. His mother continues. “I keep saying this every time I get to see you, but the divorce between me and your father means nothing when it comes to you. Or anyone else. We all still care for each other, even if we didn’t work out as a couple. And that includes you.”

Dimitri shuffles his feet under the table. “I just hope I can give all of it back one day. You’ve been truly amazing parents. Are,” he corrects himself. “Still are.”

The blush on Lori’s face makes her look young again, and she sniffles into her sleeve. “Well, you’re an amazing son. And… you don’t owe us anything. You being here is enough.” She wipes her nose on a napkin, then puts it aside with a shaky breath and a smile. “But compliments aside, there’s no need for you to suffer pointlessly. Or at all.” 

Dimitri nods. The exhaustion is coming back, seeping into his bones, so he tries not to speak too much.

“Good! And maybe there are some physical reasons to it, like vitamin or hormone levels, or something else.” Lori wraps her hands around her almost-empty mug of coffee to warm them. “I think it might be a good idea to see a doctor about this.”

Dimitri squirms a little in his seat. 

His mother sighs. “I know, doctors are a sensitive topic.” Doctors and hormones both, Dimitri thinks. “But can’t you check in with a local queer organisation or something to figure out who you can safely go to?”

“Perhaps. I... have to think about it first.” 

His tea is cold by now, so he drinks the entire cup in one go and takes a bite out of his éclair, hoping Lori won’t pick up on his shameless attempt to stall for time. Unfortunately, she just takes her own cup of coffee and drinks it slowly, waiting for him to finish, before flagging down a waiter and asking to pay. The bill arrives just as Dimitri finishes eating, so that’s a few more precious seconds for him to keep avoiding the big depression-shaped elephant in the room.

Thankfully, Lori doesn’t bring up the topic again. 

When they exit the café, the rain has stopped, but the sky is still grey and cloudy. Dimitri has a distinct feeling there’ll be another downpour soon. That, together with the looming exhaustion, makes him wish all the more to be home as soon as possible, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye to his mother just yet. Of course, she was going to stay until his friends return home, anyways, but - just returning to the dorms makes the farewell seem so much sooner. They probably won’t see each other again before his birthday next month, with midterms and more debates coming up, so he’d better make use of the little time he has, even as the fog in his head grows stronger and descends into his limbs. Doesn’t matter. 

For the following half hour, Dimitri tries to show her around the city, pointing out everything of note, forces himself to talk and be entertaining and upbeat, but eventually, Lori stops.

“You’re tired,” she says quietly, and Dimitri nods, exhaling. 

He is. Somehow, her noticing is a huge relief. 

“Let’s get you home, then. Don’t force yourself.” 

Dimitri nods again and leans his head against her shoulder. 

Lori presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll stay with you for a few more hours, at least until Sylvain and Ingrid and Felix come home, and I’ll cook for all of you before I’ll be on my way again. Alright?”

“Alright,” he whispers hoarsely. 

During the ten-minute drive, he’s silent, staring outside the window. He’s tired. He wants to huddle under his blanket and never come back out again. But when he notices how tense his whole body is, he realises that underneath everything else, he’s scared. Because if his mother is right and this depression, or exhaustion, or whatever it is - if the cause is hormonal, it’s more than likely his HRT is to blame. 

And the thought that he’ll have to give up on it just to feel normal again is terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far! I love Lori so much, she's just a good person and a good mom, and don't we all want that in our lives?
> 
> Please do leave a comment, they always motivate me to keep going - and then feel free to retweet the fic [here](https://twitter.com/MiladyKora/status/1351439253822201856?s=20)!


	6. November - Claude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if they don't do as well as hoped at the debate... sometimes, things aren't so bad for Claude and his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains discussions of ABA (applied behavior analysis), an abusive medical practice used with autistic children. No major details and specific techniques are named, but the experience is described as traumatic by Marianne (autistic, partially nonverbal). I'll link to some blogs and academic articles about it in the endnotes!  
>   
> Aside from that, minor content warnings for alcohol, mentioned racism, sexism, bullying, minor dysphoria and transphobic families; mentioned parental death (canonical, on Marianne's side). However, for once, the CWs are more serious than the chapter itself! This chapter and the next ones are breaks from all the angst and conflict we've had so far, I promise! <3

Saturday, November 14th, 16:10

November’s debate is disappointingly easy, and so it’s even more disappointing that they only get third place despite that. Yeah, Glenn and Holst weren’t there to join their matches because of their upcoming thesis deadline, but still. They scored almost 10 points lower than last time. And if they’re that dependent on two team members, they have a lot of catching up to do.

But unfortunately, the disappointment doesn’t even end there. Because by the looks of it, the Law team has figured out their strategy and sent out two people Glenn did not give them any intel on; Dimitri is nowhere to be seen, so there goes an easy target for Claude to tease. What a shame, he really enjoyed it last month. 

And while Claude does not have any objections against Law being eternally stuck with second place, that is only the case as long as his _own_ team is above them.

“We’ll do better next time,” he tells everyone on their way to the metro station. 

“Oh, I’m just here to have fun!” Raphael booms. “Winning is important, yeah, but what really matters is that we’re getting stronger in the process, and we don’t need to win for that!”

Lorenz mumbles something unintelligible. Claude decides to ignore him - if Lorenz didn’t want anyone to hear his words, then it’s probably for the better if he doesn’t ask. 

“You’re all coming to Marianne’s party next week, right?” Hilda asks right out of the blue as they arrive at the station.

Marianne’s party? Not only is this the first time Claude heard about it, Marianne is also the last person he’d expect to throw a party. On his mental list (not that he has one, he’s definitely not constantly evaluating the people around him based on what little information he can gather), she’s scoring even lower than Ignatz in terms of “willingness to host or attend parties”.

Leonie seems to have similar concerns, judging by her frown. “You’re having a party?”

She always did strike Claude as someone reasonable and dependable, so he’s definitely glad he’s not along with his doubts.

“Um,” Marianne starts, then pauses for almost twenty seconds, clenching her fists and staring at the ground. “I… It’s my birthday. On the 23rd. And I haven’t really had a proper party before.” She takes a deep breath. “And… Hilda thought you all would like to come.”

Hilda nods, visibly proud of herself, and sends some pointed glares to everyone.

“But do _you_ wish for us to join you at your party?” Lorenz asks, and for the first time, Claude agrees with him. Marianne looks terrified, and he can easily imagine Hilda getting overly excited and accidentally dragging Marianne into this.

“I… I do,” Marianne says quietly. “Talking is… very difficult for me, but you still let me join.” Just as they descend down to the platform, a slight gust picks up around them. Marianne looks up at the digital timetable. “Oh, um, my train is coming. And… I’m really tired. Is it alright if I text you the details?”

“Of course!” Claude replies, and everyone nods along. The relief on Marianne’s face speaks bounds, and when she boards the train, she turns around and shyly waves at everyone.

“Wait,” Leonie says, “Hilda, wasn’t that your train, too?”

Hilda nods and brushes one of her curled bangs away from her face. How does she have so much time to keep making new hairstyles for herself?

“Yeah, but I still have some stuff to do in town,” she replies. ”And also, I've seen your faces, and I mean it's not like I can blame you for being worried about Marianne but like, trust me, okay? She’s been looking forward to this for weeks already, so come on, make some time for her. 'Kay?”

"For sure!" Raphael grins. “Just leave it to us - Marianne is getting the best birthday party there is!”

* * *

Monday, November 23rd, 20:13

Now, to be perfectly honest, Claude hates parties. Of course, he's not about to say that to Hilda, or to his team, and of course he's not cancelling on Marianne, but again - if he was given a chance at honesty, he'd instantly admit that a party is very low on Claude's list of how to have a good time. He doesn’t like the noise; doesn't like drinking, and the taste of liquor and the loss of control over his senses and inhibitions, and he especially doesn’t like the way a drunk crowd eventually begins to resemble zombies more than it resembles humans.

So really, it’s anything but surprising that Claude has been dreading the upcoming party, especially considering it's on a Monday evening and he'll have a lecture to attend at 8 in the morning the next day. It’s even less of a surprise that after his arrival at Marianne's house, it only takes him half an hour before he's had enough and flees the crowded living room. Of course he's not leaving, that's incredibly rude, but - fresh air. He wants fresh air, and there is a veranda outside. 

And here is a surprise for him (although really, he should have expected that): when he exits into the cool, crisp autumn air, he finds Marianne already outside. Her black coat blended in so well with the dark sky behind her that he almost didn't notice her, and so when he does, an embarrassingly loud gasp leaves his mouth.

Marianne looks up with a start. “Oh, um…” she begins, then falls silent again.

Claude leans against the patio’s handrail and looks at the moonlit garden, waiting for her to continue. In the month he's gotten to know Marianne, he's already noticed that it's best to be patient, rather than trying to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. It's unusual compared to the rest of his teammates, but he can't say it's unwelcome.

After a minute, Marianne speaks up again. “Is… is it okay with you if I don’t talk? When I’m tired, it’s even more... difficult than usual.”

Claude briefly turns his head to look at her.

It doesn't escape his notice that she's speaking incredibly slowly, and that her voice is strained as if she needs to consciously enunciate every single word and syllable.

“Yeah, sure thing,” he lightly says, then looks back at the garden.

Inside, the thrumming bassline is replaced with another when the song changes. Claude drums along on the wood under his hands, trying to figure out what to do, or say in this situation. Walking away is rude, and he would also really prefer to stay out here, but the silence is slowly drifting into awkward territory. Even if Marianne isn't one for small talk - if he does nothing, this situation will start feeling uncomfortable quickly. He clears his throat.

“Is there some other way you prefer to talk?” He sees Marianne bite her lips, and quickly adds, “If you don’t want to communicate at all right now, I get it. Just, uh, let me know what you prefer.”

Marianne pauses for a moment, then takes off her gloves and reaches into her pocket for her phone. Then, she types something, and when mere seconds later Claude’s phone chimes with a notification, he chuckles.

"Alright, gotcha." He unlocks his phone and opens Morse Messenger to read what Marianne sent him.

_**Marianne:**  
When I struggle with talking, I usually resort to texting instead._

She begins to type again, and another notification comes in.

_**Marianne:  
** _ _But you don’t have to talk to me if you’d rather go inside and have fun with the others._ _I don’t mind being on my own, I’m rather used to it._

Claude shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. Honestly, I really needed some fresh air. But if you want me to leave and give you some space, just say so." Marianne nods, and a thought crosses Claude's mind. He points at his phone. "Actually, should I be texting, too?”

**_Marianne:  
_ ** _No, it's fine._

_I mean - I'm alright with you speaking._

_It's just... using my own voice that's exhausting. It always takes some effort for me, and if I'm tired like today, I don't always have the strength for it._

Claude nods and sit down on a bench next to a foldable table. When his phone chimes again, he turns the sound off - no need for sound when he'll be constantly checking Morse, anyway. The next message makes him frown.

_**Marianne:  
**I'm sorry to bother you like this. You really don't have to stay here just because of me._

"Please," Claude says. "It's fine. Really." When he glances at Marianne, he notices how tightly her hand is clamped around her phone. "There's no need for you to feel uncomfortable, especially not on your birthday. Okay?"

Marianne nods once, humming briefly, then sits down on the other side of the table, typing all the while. The screen's blue light illuminates the bags under her eyes. When she briefly glances up at Claude, he smiles.

"Happy birthday, by the way," he says, and gets a tiny smile in return. 

That might be the first time Claude has seen Marianne smile, actually. Something catches in his throat, and he looks down at his phone. This is actually really nice for avoiding eye contact, huh. He'll have to remember that, he thinks as he reads the new message.

**_Marianne:_ **  
_I'm also learning sign language right now, actually, but... I know I won't be able to communicate with lots of people this way._

_(Thank you for the wishes, I truly appreciate it.)_

_And I don't always mind talking, I can usually deal with it just fine - but still, I... I'm glad you're okay with us texting. Even if it's awkward._

_Tonight has admittedly been quite exhausting._

"Ah," Claude says. "Parties, huh?"

Marianne flushes a little and nods.

"Yeah, same. I don't like loud noises and crowds either, so honestly, I get you." Claude shifts in his seat, stretching his legs out over the wooden bench. "Who the hell invented that whole 'sitting properly' thing anyways," he grumbles.

Marianne giggles. 

Claude laughs, too, then looks over at her. "But then, if you don't like talking, why did you join our committee? I can't imagine that's very enjoyable for you, is it?" As Marianne picks up her phone again, tapping it against her chin in thought, he adds, "and on that note - is there a story behind you and talking? One that you feel like sharing? You don't have to."

A slow blink, a frown, fingers over a keyboard, and then an apologetic message.

**_Marianne:_ **  
_It's a bit of a long story, actually..._

_I don't mind telling it, but it's not a particularly happy one, I'm afraid. Are you alright with that?_

"Eh, sure. And take all the time you need."

As Marianne nods and begins to type, Claude takes the opportunity to look around. The garden - well, it’s not so much a garden, actually. It’s closer to a wilderness. Weeds and shrubs have shot up everywhere, and what he assumes once was a path is now overgrown with grass and covered in foliage. Against the starry sky, he can spot a few bird nests perched on top of leafless branches, or maybe they're mistletoes or other parasic plants - hard to tell in the darkness. Somehow, the garden manages to look both alive and dead at the same time.

When his phone chimes next, the message he gets doesn’t even remotely fit on his screen. Considering how little time has passed since he asked his questions, this is really impressive.

**_Marianne:_ **  
_So… I’m autistic. I was only diagnosed recently, but looking back, I suppose something about me always felt off. I never really fit in with the other children, and my parents didn’t really know what to do with me, either._

And already, Claude has to pause. He’s not autistic. Well, he's at least pretty sure he isn't. But still, it was incredibly similar for him to what Marianne described:

His parents were always off on business trips, leaving him with his grandparents, and as for not fitting in… well, with his father being Syrian, he was the only non-white kid in his entire high school, and of course his classmates didn't go easy on him. For that matter, neither did his grandparents, who never approved of their daughter's husband. Growing up, there wasn't a single group of people that would have allowed Claude to belong, no matter how hard he'd try. The world outside him just kept pushing him away.

As if that wasn't enough, though, his inside world kept pushing and pulling him around, too. All those years, he had this constant sense of estrangement gnawing at him from the inside and with time, it just got worse and worse. Then, one night, he stayed up late and watched this movie called The Matrix that he was definitely too young for at the age of 13 because it was scary and gross and creepy. Claude was definitely too young to relate to every single word from the movie, but he did, and when he looked it up, he found out the directors were both trans. He hadn't even known that was a thing you could be, and the next week was spent in a mental vortex for him because all those little dots strewn throughout his childhood just suddenly connected and it all made sense, and-

An owl cries out in the night, and Claude looks up with a start.

Oh, right. He looks back at his phone and keeps reading.

_**Marianne:**  
When my parents died in an accident, a distant relative took me in. Everyone, him included, thought something was wrong with me because I didn’t even cry at the funeral, and he sent me to a therapist. I now know that what the doctor worked with is called Applied Behavioral Analysis, and it was meant to teach me how to show emotions on my face and make me talk more.  
_ _I... I really didn’t like it. They didn’t ask me what I wanted, or what my own goals were, they just wanted me to act in a way that wouldn’t make me stand out as much, even when it was exhausting and painful to me._

"Shit," Claude says. Fuck. "I'm so sorry to hear that. About your parents, and- about the therapy, and all that. That's not okay."

On the other side of the table, Marianne takes a deep breath. “If… you don’t want to keep reading... that’s alright. I won’t be upset.”

Claude shakes his head. “No, I asked, so it’s only fair that I get an answer, too. I want to know. And this might sound weird, but I actually relate to a lot of it myself. You know, with me being trans and not fitting in and people wanting me to conform." He laughs, awkwardly. "But this is about you. And really, I'm okay with reading this."

Marianne presses her lips together, then nods slowly.

**_Marianne:_ **  
_I was diagnosed only two years ago, but when my suspicions were confirmed at last, so much just fell into place for me. The more I read up about it and the experiences of others like me, the less alone I felt.  
And I also finally - finally! - got a good therapist to work through everything, and she has been really helpful in helping me feel comfortable with who I really was. Actually, she was the one who suggested that I text and learn sign language. And she also said that many autistic people experience ABA as abusive.  
The longer I think about it, the more I find myself agreeing with her._

Claude reads the words “others like me” and “comfortable with who I really was” over and over again, and thinks back to how he came out as trans to his mother (his father had been to busy to come by), how his mother thought he was just confused or in need of reassurance that he was “a perfectly normal young woman” and how much worse his grandparents reacted. After just a few months, he ran away from home after his grandparents refused to accept he was a guy, and if Judith, his mother's friend from college and a youth counselor specifically for queer teenagers, hadn't taken him in... things would have turned out pretty bad for him. Claude swallows. On the other side of the table, Marianne takes out a short piece of rope from her coat and starts winding it around her fingers, fidgeting with it as he reads on.

_**Marianne:**  
There isn’t really an external reason for why I don’t like to use my voice that much. It just feels unpleasant and tiring and exhausting, and being able to express myself like this is so much better. Again, I don't always mind talking, but it's much easier for me to do it this way.  
_ _Thank you for being so understanding, by the way. I really appreciate it._

Claude nods. This all makes sense, except for one thing. “I’m not finished with reading yet,” he says, “but I have to ask… why did you agree to do the party? Did Hilda force you or convince you or something like that?”

It doesn't sound like Hilda to him, with how cool she usually seems to be about boundaries - he still remembers their first meeting and the pirate shirt. So it's curiosity, not so much worry. Well, maybe he is a little worried about Marianne. With how exhausted and tense she usually seems, Claude really wants for something in Marianne's life to be alright and easy.

When Marianne shakes her head in response to his question and puts the rope down in favour of her phone, it comes as a relief.

Claude hurries up with reading. His fingers are slowly getting stiff from the cold air.

_**Marianne:**  
So that's the story about me not talking much. And a _bout y_ our question regarding the committee…   
_ _First of all: You’re right, the competitions are really difficult for me. But I decided to study International Relations so I could help end the discrimination autistic people like me face, and… as much as I wish I could do that without speaking at all, it’s just not possible. You have to speak if you want anybody to listen.  
So I decided that I’ll try and use this as training for the future. The fact that there is a set topic and speaking order really helps, actually. It gives me some structure I can work with. Even if it is very exhausting, in this case, I’m willing to endure it.  
_ _I hope I could help you understand, and… if you have any questions, please feel free to ask._

Claude ponders for a moment, as Marianne keeps typing, whether he should wait for her to finish before speaking up. The question is answered for him when she stops, and a new message appears on his screen.

**_Marianne:_ **  
_While I probably won’t have another party like this, I was really curious and I'm glad I got to know what it’s like. But if you don’t mind… you said that this conversation isn't about you, but I would love to get to know you better, Claude. Can I ask you some questions in return, maybe?_

Oh. Yeah, that's... probably fair. Claude really doesn't like talking about himself and his private life because people usually don't understand, but with how much he could relate to Marianne's experiences? It's likely that she'll understand his thoughts, too. Maybe he can share a few things.

“Alright, then, ask away,” he says with a nod. “But I will have to go inside for a moment, it’s getting too cold for me to sit here without my jacket or scarf.”

Marianne nods and turns towards the garden. “See you,” she whispers, and Claude sends a smile her way.

* * *

Monday, November 23rd, 21:21

The party inside is a jarring contrast to the veranda. The air is stuffy, it smells like sweat, the floor is sticky and Claude just barely manages to dodge people’s arms and bodies on his way through the living room. When they all arrived two hours ago, they were told by Hilda to leave their stuff in the kitchen, so that’s where he tries to navigate through the darkness. On his way back out, he runs into Leonie who, surprisingly enough, appears to be sober despite the half-empty vodka bottle in her hand.

“Leaving already?” she asks, barely slurring her words. Ah. So it was her who drank the vodka - she's just good with alcohol, as it turns out. Pretty impressive, Claude has to concede that much.

“Nah,” he replies. “Just going outside, keeping Marianne some company.”

Leonie breaks into a smile. “Oh, nice, tell her I said hi. I’d join you, but I think she’ll appreciate just one person at a time more.”

“Probably,” Claude says with a smile. “I’ll be on my way, then, have a good one!”

Just as he turns away, however, Leonie calls after him. “Actually, hold on, I have a question!”

“Yeah?” 

Leonie looks down at her feet, then back at him. “So, I’m the chair of the university’s LGBTQ student group, and a few days ago, a trans guy emailed us.”

Huh. What do you know? Claude already respected Leonie a lot previously - she's a fun person and a good teammate - but the indication that she's queer increases Claude's appreciation for her even more.

“So the student was asking whether we know which doctors around here are safe for trans people, and I thought you might be able to recommend someone. If you don’t know anyone, no worries, we’ll figure out a solution either way.”

“Uh, yeah, no, sure thing,” he says. “The place I go to is fine. Can I just send you the address on Morse Messenger, and you forward it?”

Leonie nods and gives him a thumbs-up over the loud music.

“Oh, but - if you don’t mind,” Claude adds quickly, “please don’t tell that student where you got the information from.”

“You got it. I mean, I didn't tell you who the student was, either, I think I can keep your name to myself as well." She grins, and Claude returns it. "Thanks, Claude, you’re a big help.”

They chat for a few more minutes, then Claude excuses himself and returns to the veranda. He probably won’t join the group’s meetings, but it’s good to know it exists. The phrase “others like me” keeps darting around in his mind, but he shoves it aside. For now, he’s just going to keep Marianne company and make sure she has an awesome birthday.

No, it really is a surprise to Claude just how much he’s enjoying himself. Who would have thought - maybe good company really does make a difference. And maybe he’s found some friends to talk to, after all.

When he stumbles into his own room two hours later, he’s tired, yes - but he’s also happy. And he’s looking forward to talking to his team again tomorrow, on the hallway, at the cafeteria, during the meetings. And maybe, Claude thinks as he’s falling asleep, maybe he can ask them for help in return when he needs it. That would be simply fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far! I'll shift back to a less frequent posting schedule, and aim for uploading once every two weeks so that we'll actually cover a month of story time within a month of IRL time, but I'll have to see how it goes. <3  
> 
> 
> Sources on ABA:
> 
> 1\. ["What’s the Big Deal With ABA Therapy?"](https://autisticmama.com/big-deal-aba-therapy/) \- Blogpost by Kaylene George on the website AutisticMama explaining the basic mindset behind ABA, its practices, and consequences. The post is written in simple and accessible language.
> 
> 2\. ["5 Important Reasons Even 'New ABA' is Problematic"](https://autisticmama.com/even-new-aba-is-problematic/) \- Blogpost by Kaylene George on the website AutisticMama explaining t why any approach that forced autistic children to change their behavior in order to conform is harmful. The post is written in simple and accessible language.
> 
> 3\. ["How much compliance is too much compliance: Is long-term ABA therapy abuse?"](https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/23311908.2019.1641258) \- open-access (!) academic article by Aileen Herlinda Sandoval-Norton and Gary Shkedy. Like most academic texts, it's a longer, more complex, and denser read, but it is very well-written and explains the harm resulting from ABA pretty well, in my opinion.
> 
> 4\. ["Invisible Abuse: ABA and the things only autistic people can see"](https://neuroclastic.com/2019/03/28/invisible-abuse-aba-and-the-things-only-autistic-people-can-see/) \- an essay by C. L. Lynch on NeuroClastic, a website run by neurodivergent (especially autistic) people. This essay also has videos of ABA sessions which are analysed in detail.
> 
> For all those sources, please be mindful that they talk about abusive and traumatising practices. When the origin of ABA is discussed, there are references to dehumanising attitudes and terms used towards disabled people, including those on the autistic spectrum. Please take care!
> 
> Whether you choose to read those sources or not - please do leave a comment on this work, even if it's just a keysmash or one sentence! Knowing people enjoy what I write really keeps me going. And feel free to come say hi on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/MiladyKora)!

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MiladyKora), or this [moment with all my fics in it](https://twitter.com/MiladyKora/status/1307923347347472384?s=20)!  
> RT the fic [here](https://twitter.com/MiladyKora/status/1351439253822201856?s=20).


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